


Mind the Gap

by indiefic



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cougar!Peggy, F/M, Mentions of Cancer, Older Woman/Younger Man, Peggy's in her fifties, Steve's in his twenties, They're Totally Doing It, Younger Steve, dysfunctional family dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-04-30 06:05:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 27,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5153063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiefic/pseuds/indiefic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in 1974.  Peggy is the fifity-five year old director of SHIELD and Steve's been found and thawed out.  </p><p>The series started as a drabble on Tumblr.  </p><p>Chapters have been updated so they are in chronological order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. April 1974 - The Story of Peggy's Jewelry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapters are not in order. Chronologically, this chapter is the first in the series.

**Washington D.C.**

**April 1974**

 

“Ma’am, did you hear me?”

 

“Yes, Agent Fury,” Peggy says, “I heard.”  She takes a deep breath, tries to regroup.  “What is your ETA?”

 

He pauses, she can hear the howling wind in the background, “Probably twelve hours, ma’am.  I’m pushing for less, but the weather’s not cooperating.”

 

“Do your best, Agent,” she says and hangs up the phone.  She picks it up again and rings her secretary.  “I need Dr. Lassiter immediately.”

 

Lassiter arrives shortly, clutching several notepads.  The man always appears to be in a state of disarray, which irritates her to no end.  They sit at the large conference table in her office and he outlines the medical interventions he believes will be necessary.  Peggy picks up a tablet with some hastily scribbled notes.  “What’s this?” she asks.

 

“Janssen’s recommendations for waking him up, provided he survives the thawing process,” he says.

 

Peggy looks at the notes again.  “Absolutely not,” she says.  “We are not going to lie to him and try and make him believe it is still 1945.  Put him in an ordinary room.”

 

“Director,” Lassiter says, “Janssen felt very strongly that slowly acclimating him to - “

 

“Get Howard Stark on the line and inform him that he will be in DC within the day, at which point he will park his ass in a chair next to that hospital bed and wait until Captain Rogers wakes.”

 

Lassiter blinks at her and slowly seems to realize she’s not kidding.

 

* * *

 

Much to everyone’s - except Peggy - surprise, the illustrious Howard Stark does exactly as requested.  He’s still a giant pain in the ass, ordering the staff around as if they work for him exclusively and not SHIELD.  But he is compliant within the bounds of the edict.  He does sit.  And wait.  And when Steve finally wakes, Howard is there, offering whatever dubious moral support Howard can offer.  But it’s still better than a lie.  At least Peggy hopes it is.

 

It’s two days before Howard is in her office.  It’s after hours and he has a scotch and a bone to pick.  “He’s asking for you,” Howard says.  He swirls the scotch in the glass, studying it with feigned casualness.  “You’re the first person he asked about when he woke up.  I tried not to take it personally.”

 

She looks at Howard, but says nothing.

 

“Never took you for someone to put vanity above loyalty, Peg,” Howard says, narrowing his eyes.

 

The barb finds its home with pinpoint accuracy, but she does her best to deflect.  “It’s not vanity, Howard,” she says coldly.  “I have an organization to run.  In case you forgot.”

 

He continues to look at her.  “Never took you for a coward either.”  He pauses. “And I think you’ve hurt his feelings.”

 

* * *

 

Howard isn’t there, by design, Peggy’s certain.  It’s been several hours since their confrontation in her office and he undoubtedly knew that his words would spur her to action.  She hates being predictable.  But, more than that, she hates the idea of wounding Steve.  However unintentionally.

 

Howard was right.  She has been a coward.  She has avoided seeing him.  She’s kept tabs, followed his progress closely.  But to see him.  She’s not sure she’ll ever be ready for that.  Even now, she feels like so much of her life was defined by his loss. The woman she is today was born from the ashes of the dreams that burned to cinders when he died.  She has lived her life with a ferocity, a purpose derived from that loss.  Without it, she’s not precisely sure who she is.  

 

And on a much more personal note, she’s not sure how to face him as she is now.  She has never been ashamed of her appearance.  Every wrinkle, every sagging bit of skin was hard won, a badge of honor.  Not that she feels like a crone.  She’s still an attractive woman.  She knows that.  Though now it is generally qualified with _for her age_.  Her hair is still mostly dark, marred only by a streak of gray at her right temple which, up until two days ago, she privately thought of as rather dashing.  There are lines at the corners of her eyes and her jawline isn’t what it used to be.  Her figure is still quite tidy, but she did carry two children, so it’s far from perfect.

 

But looking at Steve as he is now, still so fresh faced and young, she feels lost.  All she knows is that the girl she used to be is gone forever, and in her place is a woman, hardened and scarred by the life she forged in his absence.

 

The medical unit is dark and staffed by a skeleton crew.  Steve is the only patient, currently, and his health is no longer of particular concern.  Peggy leaves instructions that they are not to be interrupted for any reason.

 

She walks down the hall, her heels clicking loudly on the tile.  She gives a sharp rap against the door before slowly pushing it open.  He’s sitting there, on the bed - a real bed, not a hospital bed.  The room is not a standard hospital room.  It is sparsely furnished with a bed, nightstand, two chairs and a small table.  When she enters, Steve’s back is ramrod straight, and he immediately rises to stand, watching her.  He, no doubt, heard her coming down the hall.  Knowing him, he knew it was her from the cadence of her gait.  She closes the door before turning to face him.  

 

She looks at him, overcome for a moment.  He looks so young, so lost.  “Hello, Steve,” she says quietly.

 

He looks her over and his eyes are glassy.  He starts to take a step toward her and then stops. He stands there, clearly not knowing what to do.  “I’m sorry I missed our date, Peggy,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.

 

She knows he’s practiced those words and she blinks quickly, fighting back the tears.  “While I did not enjoy being stood up,” she says carefully, “you did have quite the excuse.”

 

He smiles sadly and nods.

 

“My God,” she says, shaking her head, “you look exactly the same.”  He does.  He looks precisely as she remembered him, so very solid, expression so earnest.

 

He shrugs, obviously uncomfortable and she’s reminded of how he used to be right after Erskine’s serum, as if his enhanced features were something to be ashamed of.  His gaze rakes over her and she feels oddly exposed, despite being fully and appropriately dressed.  She pulls her cardigan together, trying to wrap it more tightly around herself.  

 

He goes still, then swallows thickly.  He looks stricken.  “You’re married,” he says quietly.

 

Peggy looks at her hand, at the ring on her finger, seeing it as if for the first time.  It’s been there for so long, it’s become a part of her.  She shakes her head quickly, glancing at him.  “Widowed, actually,” she says, “I’ve never taken off the ring.”  She nervously spins the ring on her finger before forcing herself to stop.  He seems both relieved and troubled by her statement.  She sighs.  “You’ve been gone thirty years, Steve.”

 

“I - “ he starts and then stops.  He sighs.  “Yeah.”  He sounds so defeated.

 

He looks at her for a moment before looking away, clearly trying to find some neutral ground.  “Howard said the SSR is called SHIELD now and that you’re the director.”

 

She nods.  “I am.  I was appointed several years after the war.”

 

He smiles, a real smile that lights up his face.  “I’m glad,” he says.  “You always deserved to be running the show.”

 

They stand there awkwardly for a moment before Steve turns, motioning for her to take a seat in one of the chairs at the small table.  She does and he follows suit, joining her at the little table.  He rubs at his forehead and she sympathizes.  He has a lifetime of history to catch up on.  She can only imagine how overwhelming that would be.  “I guess Howard got married,” Steve says.  “He has a son?”

 

She nods.  “Tony,” she says with a smile.  “He’s five.  Predictably precocious.  A real chip off the old block by all accounts, which should probably terrify us all.”

 

Steve smiles and nods.  “I guess you had a family too?” he asks tentatively.

 

She raises her eyebrows and looks at him, then nods. “Yes,” she said.  “I married Daniel in 1948.  Our son, David, was born a year later.  And our daughter, Sarah, two years after that.  David’s with the CIA, married.  Sarah is in a graduate program at Stanford.”  She takes a deep breath, looking at her ring.  “Daniel died two years ago.”

 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

 

“So am I,” she says, pursing her lips together, “but that’s life.”  She shrugs.

 

He nods, looking down at his hands, which he’s threaded together on the tabletop.  “Any idea when I can get out of here?” he asks.

 

She smiles.  “You’re not a prisoner, Steve,” she says.  “As soon as you feel like you’re ready, you can go.”  She frowns.  “Our psychiatrists have some specific recommendations for how they think you should start to acclimate to our time.”

 

He looks at her.  “You don’t agree?”

 

She rolls her eyes, looking away.  “I think psychiatrists are, on the whole, full of shit,” she says flatly.

 

He smiles and she can tell he’s trying not to laugh.

 

She holds up a finger.  “People do not laugh at me, Captain Rogers.  I run one of the largest intelligence operations on the planet.  I am quite terrifying, I assure you.”

 

“Oh, okay,” he says, and snickers.

 

She swats at him, but can’t help but smile.  She knows it’s not really that funny.  But it’s a release, a tension breakers, a point of commonality.  She looks at him, her expression soft.  “God, I missed you, Steve.”

 

He reaches out quickly, like he’s forcing himself to do it before he can think better of it, and takes her hand.  “I missed you too,” he says so earnestly.

 

She rolls her eyes, but smiles at him.  “You’ve been awake for two days.”

 

“I still missed you,” he says firmly, his eyes on their clasped hands.

 

Peggy looks at their hands.  She squeezes his hand until he looks up at her.  She takes a deep breath, frowning.  “Steve,” she says gently, “we can’t do this.  Not again.”

 

He looks away, lips pursed together tightly.  “Because you’re the director now?”

 

“Because I’m fifty-five,” she says with an incredulous laugh.  “And you’re the same age as my son.”

 

He doesn’t respond and doesn’t look at her, but he clasps her hand tighter.  She sighs, but doesn’t pull away.  This is not going to end well.

 

END CHAPTER


	2. June 1974 - The Story of How Peggy Hurt Her Foot

** June 1974 **

  
  


“Director, Captain Rogers is here.”

 

Peggy frowns at the intercom, but pushes the button.  “Send him in.”

 

Steve walks in, wearing a standard issue SHIELD uniform.  She thought he was supposed to be in the field today, but clearly he’s not.  It seems to be a theme with him.  He’s never where he’s supposed to be, according to Fury’s reports.  She crosses her arms over her chest, looking at him.  “Yes?”

 

He frowns, shaking his head.  “I’m not a spy, Peggy.”

 

“No one is asking you to spy, Steve.”

 

“Really?” he snaps.  “Because it seems like that’s all SHIELD does.  It seems like that’s all any American intelligence or military organization does.”

 

She looks at him.  “Welcome to the 1970s, Captain.  We’re so glad you could join us.  Would you like a tour?  Perhaps we could start with the Watergate building.”

 

His frown is mighty, but she is undaunted.  She lights a cigarette.

 

He shakes his head at her and sits down in one of the two chairs across from her desk, propping his booted feet on her desk.  She bites her tongue.  This is not Steve.  This is not something Steve would normally do.  He’s more concerned with propriety than any person she’s ever known.  He is pushing her buttons like a petulant child.  He wants a reaction _from her_.  

 

Peggy already knows from the reports, that despite not following orders, Steve is nothing less than perfectly professional and respectful toward his colleagues.   _She_ is the only person he treats in this manner.  Peggy is reminded, uncomfortably, of when her children were small and she would leave them with a new nanny.  They would be perfect little angels for the nanny and the second they were alone with her, they were little monsters, howling and screaming.  Because she was their safe space.  She was where they could vent all the fears and frustrations they had been afraid to expose in front of a stranger.  

 

Peggy knows she is Steve’s safe space, and it unsettles her as much as it makes her want to shelter him.

 

Taking a deep breath, she walks around and takes a seat behind her desk, looking at him.  “Is there something I can do for you, Captain Rogers?” she asks.  “Other than shifting the entire sociopolitical leanings of the world so that they don’t disappoint you?”

 

He narrows his eyes at her.  “Darvin beats his wife,” he says.  “Pronge’s probably a serial killer.”

 

Peggy frowns, flicking ash in the ashtray.  “I will have them checked out.  But many of the operatives have checkered pasts.  A certain moral flexibility is considered an asset these days,” she says flatly, watching him.

 

He frowns shaking his head.  “So that’s it?  Just turn SHIELD over to the criminals, let them police the world?”

 

“There are no men like you anymore, Steve,” she snaps.  “If there ever were.  They’re all dead.  Or so twisted that they’re not even recognizable.”

 

He stares at her.  “Do you really believe that?” he asks.  “Or is it just convenient?”

 

She stubs out her cigarette, tired of being the scapegoat for all his frustrations with the modern world.  “Why are you really here?” she asks.  “I know you’re new, but even you have to realize that a field operative doesn’t rate having the Director’s ear.”

 

He nods.  “So that’s all I am?” he says.  “An operative?”

 

She frowns.  “Of course we appreciate your service, Captain Rogers,” she says.  “The world is forever indebted to you.”

 

He doesn’t even say anything, he just gets up and stalks away.

 

She does manage to enjoy the view.  She’s old.  Not dead.

 

* * *

 

It’s late when she gets home, but the light is on in the garage, so she parks in the drive.  She tosses her keys down on the table and hangs her jacket in the closet.  She heads up to her bedroom and undresses, wrapping herself in her silk robe.  A gift, from Daniel, when they traveled to Hong Kong for their second honeymoon.  She removes her earrings and brushes out her hair.  

 

She doesn’t hear him, but there’s a change in the atmosphere and she knows he’s there, watching her.  She turns and looks at him, standing in the doorway between her bedroom and the hall.  He’s in a t-shirt and a worn pair of trousers that are slung low on his hips.  He’s barefoot, his hands are still wrapped in tape.  He is the most handsome man she’s ever seen, bar none.

 

It was a mistake to let him stay here.  She knows that.  But she feels helpless to change it.  She has kept him at arm’s length, albeit often literally, refusing to pull him close.  But she can’t seem to let him get too far away either.  She knows it’s awful of her.  

 

Peggy knows that Steve thinks that he wants more.  She knows that, in spite of the absurdity of the situation, he thinks he wants _her_.  She’s seen enough of traumatized people to expect his behavior.  To him, she’s a familiar landmark in an ever changeable landscape.  And he’s clinging to her to avoid losing himself completely.  So she tries to support him.  Tries to find him a place in this world, for which his moral compass is so ill suited.  But it’s a challenge, all of it.  A series of halting steps.  

 

He’s staying in her basement, which is highly inappropriate under any circumstance.  Except that he showed her the abysmal little flat he was thinking of renting and it depressed her so much that she brought him home with her, like an orphaned puppy.  She tried to be clear, she was offering him a place in her home, not a place in her life.  At least, no more of a place than Howard or Dugan or any of her other longtime friends rated.  And he played along.  For a while. But he’s not stupid.  And he’s rarely content.  

 

“Is there something you need?” she asks.

 

“Please don’t speak to me like that,” he says evenly, frowning as he pulls the tape loose from his hand and begins unwrapping it.  It’s clear his workout did not do the trick of venting all his frustrations.  While he doesn’t appear to be spoiling for a fight, it’s clear he has things to say.

 

“Like how, exactly?” she asks tightly.

 

“Like I’m one of your kids,” he says.  “I’m not.”

 

She bristles.  “I know you’re not one of my children.”

 

“Do ya?” he asks.  “Sometimes I wonder.”  He pulls at the other wrap, stepping into her room.  He’s never dared push this far before.

 

She pulls the robe closed more tightly, watching him, forcing herself to hold her ground.  “Captain Rogers - “

 

“Don’t Captain Rogers me either,” he says, frowning.  He’s standing very close now and she has to look up at him.  “The Director of SHIELD doesn’t open her guest room up to operatives.  She probably doesn’t open it up to old friends either, regardless of what she says.”

 

She did not get where she is today by backing down from an inelegant challenge to her logic.  “So who are you then?  Please enlighten me.”

 

He steps even closer, looking down at her.  “You know who I am,” he says.  “Intimately.  You just don’t want to admit it.  Or remember.  You’re scared.”

 

“What could I possibly be scared of?” she demands, pulling herself up as tall as possible in bare feet.

 

“Me,” he says flatly.  “Us.”  He looks around her room. “ _This_.”

 

“I am not - “ she starts.  But he leans in toward her and she immediately pulls back.  He stops, but doesn’t retreat.  He looks at her.  It’s not a threat.  It’s a challenge.  

 

“Fish or cut bait, Peg.  But either way, quit stringin’ me along.”

 

“I’m not - “ she starts, offended.

 

“You are,” he counters hotly.  “And you know you are.  You can’t decide what I am to you.  Am I your kid?  Your employee?  Your lover?  You don’t know and you don’t want to risk anything, so you keep both of us hanging around in limbo because you’re too damn scared to admit what you want.”

 

She frowns at him, but she has no response.  Because he’s right.  

 

He shakes his head, looking at her.  “You think I want you because I’m too afraid, or too inept, to make a new life.”  She opens her mouth and he cuts her off.  “Go, on deny it.  I dare you.”  

 

She shakes her head, looking away.  

 

“Truth is, you’re not putting the brakes on for _me_ , you’re putting them on for _you_ ,” he says.  “ _You_ ’re the one who’s afraid to pick up where we left off.”

 

She glares at him.  

 

“I want you,” he says plainly.  “I want us.  I’ve never pretended otherwise.”  He sighs, dragging his hand through his hair.  He looks at her, his expression soft.  “It’s killing me to be so close to you and to have you constantly push me away for no reason I can see.”

 

“No reason?” she demands.  “Steve, I’m more than twice your age!”

 

“I don’t care!” he yells, chest heaving.  He shakes his head.  “I don’t care, Peg.  I want what we had before I went in the ice.  I don’t understand what the problem is.  I don’t understand why I’m in the basement, while you’re up here alone.  I don’t.”  He sighs.  “And I don’t think I can do it for much longer.  So if you want this, you need to tell me.”

 

He stands there, waiting.  She opens her mouth to say something, but finds no words.

 

He shakes his head and looks away.  His gaze returns to her and he frowns, turning on his heel and walking out of the room.

 

* * *

 

She knows, when she gets home the next night, that he’s gone.  And not just out, but _gone_.  She forces herself to walk down to the basement and she finds the guest bed tidily made up, everything in its place and no trace of him.  She wonders where he is.  Dugan probably knows, but she’d die before she called him to check up on Steve.  She already feels ridiculous enough as it is.  She refuses to go chasing after a child.

 

She doesn’t see Steve at the office either.  He’s taken to following orders, which is novel, if a little unnerving.  Fury occasionally mentions him in his reports, but never anything of substance, never anything that tells her the things she wants to know; if he’s eating, where he’s sleeping.  Who he’s sleeping with.  The information could be had.  She’s not the director of an intelligence organization for nothing.  But she doesn’t investigate.  A surveillance request, no matter how top secret would still have to be relayed through a multitude of channels, across a multitude of desks.  Her pride, apparently, knows some limits.

 

She hasn’t been sleeping well and she’s been keeping herself as busy as possible.  It’s not an ideal combination, but it’s gotten her through several rough patches in the past.  

 

She’s traveling in Southeast Asia for a summit, not precisely secret, but the guest list certainly hasn’t been made public knowledge.  They’re en route to the hotel when all hell breaks loose.  Large caliber gunfire takes out one of the support vehicles.  Her driver immediately takes evasive action, tossing her to and fro in the backseat as he takes the tight, cobblestone streets at incredible speed.  He races down corridors, but there’s a missed turn and they’re in a dead end.  Before he can even begin to turn around, they’re pinned in by a half dozen vehicles.  

 

Peggy is yanked out of the car by armed gunmen, a bag thrown over her head before her wrists and ankles are tied and she’s tossed into the trunk of a car.  There’s a chemical laden rag pressed to her face and everything goes blank.

 

When she wakes up, the bag is still in place.  Her head is pounding and her mouth is dry.  Her arms and legs ache from where she’s tied to her chair.  She listens, but she’s rusty and she only catches a quarter of the conversation.  They got two of the other delegates.  One of them is dead.  The other has been successfully ransomed and will be turned over at nightfall.  Peggy already knows her fate.  SHIELD doesn’t negotiate.  On her orders.  

 

To her own shock, Peggy’s first thought is not for her own safety.  It’s not even of her children.  It’s Steve.  And the idea of what her death would do to him at this point, in this world where his footing is already so unsure.

 

It’s hours before they untie her.  They throw her in a cold, damp basement room with a bucket.  She sits there working out ways to get out of the situation.  She knows it’s to her advantage that they consider her old, soft.  She may be older and softer than she used to be, but she’s never been a pushover.

 

She waits for hours.  They finally send a lone soldier to collect her.  She plays up the weakness and when he turns her to face him, she smashes her forehead into the soft tissue of his face so hard she sees stars and he crumples to the ground.  She’s on him in a second, toned legs wrapped around his neck until he stops moving.  She takes his gun and moves quietly down the corridor on bare feet.  

 

The building is old, sprawling.  It seems to go on forever.  She can finally see what looks like an exit.  It’s night, dark, hard to judge distance.  But she’s nearly there.  Her bare feet are quiet on the stone floors.  She runs for it, but an arm closes around her neck, dragging her to an immediate stop.  She loses the gun in the scuffle. Another assailant joins the first, grabbing for her feet.  She catches him with a kick to the jaw as hard as she can.  The contact sends shockwaves of pain radiating up her leg.   But he crumples to the ground.  The arm at her neck tightens again.  She’s losing consciousness when suddenly she can breathe.  The arm is ripped free and her attacker is tossed against the far stone wall like a ragdoll, crumpling into a broken heap.  

 

She turns and Steve is there, along with a strike team of SHIELD agents.  He steadies her, his hand grasping her upper arm, holding her upright.  The helmet makes it hard to read his emotions, but she knows he’s scared, and dangerous because of it.  

 

She nods at him, trying to reassure him that she is okay.  She takes a step, but her ankle buckles under her weight and she bites back a cry of pain. Before she hits the ground, Steve scoops her up.  He’s moving quickly, quietly.  He makes a jump that’s probably thirty feet and lands like a cat, even with her in his arms, leaving the rest of the team in his wake.  He takes off up the street at breakneck speed and a van is waiting.  The door swings open as they approach and he jumps inside, motioning for them to go before the door is shut.

 

They both sit there in the back of the cargo van, breathing hard.  The raw throbbing of her ankle is finally making itself known through the haze of adrenaline and nerves.  It’s probably broken.  She’s shaking from shock and she clamps her teeth together to stop them chattering.  She hates it.  She’s been out of the field too long.

 

Steve pulls her close, his breath puffing raggedly against her temple.  The driver wastes no time and soon enough, the city lights have faded and they’re on some quiet road, unfortunately pitted with potholes.  Peggy is still clutched tightly against the solid bulk of Steve’s body.  He reaches up and pulls off his helmet, dragging a hand through his hair, sending it into disarray.  Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, she’s exhausted.  He settles back against the side of the van, making himself  as comfortable as possible before pulling her into his lap.  She doesn’t argue, she doesn’t fight.  She slumps against him, awash with relief.  She knows how wildly inappropriate this is, but at the moment, she can’t manage to give a shit.  She’s alive and he’s alive and it doesn’t seem like much else matters.

 

She wakes when Steve is lifting her into his arms again.  He hops out of the van and jogs to the waiting helicopter.  Fury is there, in the helicopter, and he helps her buckle in.  Her hands don’t seem to be working, a combination of nerves and exhaustion.

 

By the time they arrive at the US air base, the sun is cresting the horizon.  Medical staff meet them on the tarmac.  As Steve tries to lift Peggy, she stops him.  She leans heavily on him, her hand wrapped around his bicep, using him for support as she hops her way several feet across the tarmac to the waiting gurney, gritting her teeth the entire time.

 

The ankle is broken.  She’ll need surgery, but it can wait until she gets back to D.C. They bandage it up and give her enough pain meds that taking a shower isn’t a completely excruciating experience.  The flight back to D.C. won’t leave until nightfall and she lays on the hospital bed, staring at the wall, exhausted, but somehow unable to sleep.  

 

There’s a perfunctory knock before Steve walks in.  He’s showered and changed into BDUs.  His expression is tight.  Peggy knows what she looks like.  She’s seen the bruises, the ruptured blood vessels in her left eye.  He doesn’t say anything, he just pulls a chair up next to her hospital bed and sits there, taking her left hand in both of his, his expression stormy.  She reaches over and brushes his hair back out of his eyes.  He leans into her touch and she presses her right palm to his cheek as his eyes flutter shut.  

 

There’s another knock and Peggy knows Fury is standing there, but she doesn’t acknowledge him.  Neither does Steve, who doesn’t even bother to open his eyes.

 

“They moved up the timetable,” Fury says.  “We leave within the hour.”

 

Steve gives a curt nod, opening his eyes, but never taking his gaze from Peggy.

 

To her consternation, they wheel her out onto the tarmac in a wheelchair.  They have some over complicated plan involving crutches and stairs.  Steve ignores them all.  Without a word, he lifts Peggy into his arms, marching up the stairs and depositing her carefully on the gurney in the plane.  Across from her is a row of seats.  They’ve only been in the air for a short while before he stretches out across the seats as much as his tall frame will allow.  The last thing she sees before sleep takes her is his sleeping face.  It feels far more comfortable than she would like.

 

* * *

 

Her secretary and driver are waiting for her when they touch down in D.C.  Both Steve and Fury stick close, accompanying her to the hospital.  There’s a security detail there waiting.  Personally, Peggy feels like the show of force is ridiculously unnecessary, especially now.  But she allows it.  They have to wait for the OR, so Peggy does her best to make her way through a mountain of waiting paperwork, trading pieces of paper with her secretary.  

 

After the paperwork is done, her secretary leaves.  Fury briefs her on how, exactly, the clusterfuck went down.  He glosses over the part where Steve led the extraction team.  Certain accommodations are made within SHIELD for Captain America.  However, Steve commandeering the extraction team is not protocol.  Parrish, Haan or Suarez should have been the lead.  None of them were even on the team.  Steve’s standing there, jaw set, but he won’t meet her gaze.  She knows he’s subtly rebuilding her organization from the ground up.  She wants to be irritated, but mostly she’s grateful that someone cares enough to try.  She wonders exactly when she became so comfortable with turning a blind eye.

 

They finally come in to prep her for surgery.  Fury excuses himself and she can see the security detail positioned outside the room.  Steve stays in the room, watching.  Just before they wheel her down to the OR, he steps next to the bed.  He leans down and kisses her lightly on the lips.  “I’ll be here when you wake up.  Don’t be late.”

 

She cups her hand against his cheek for a long moment and nods.

 

* * *

 

It’s two interminable days before they release her.  David stops by to see her, his face pursed into a grimace that reminds her so much of Daniel.  Both of her children resemble their father quite strongly.  She doesn’t bother feeding David the cover story since he won’t believe it anyway.  She knows that he finally understands why she can’t tell him the truth.  She wonders what he’s heard.  Even for something as secretive as this, she knows there must be rumors in the Washington intelligence community.  Whatever they are, David doesn’t let on.  She wonders how things are with his wife, Laurie.  Peggy wonders how much he can’t tell Laurie now.  

 

The visit doesn’t last long.  David is in a mood and as usual, Peggy has no idea what it’s in relation to.  It could, quite honestly, be anything, brooding soul that he is.  He says he only wanted to check in.  He promises to call his sister.

 

David has only been gone a matter of moments before Steve enters her room.  He was watching, waiting.  “Your son?” he asks.

 

“Yes.  David.”  She looks over at him.  “Surely you should be at work.”

 

He shrugs, which she takes to mean that he either doesn’t know if he’s supposed to be at work, or doesn’t care.  Or both.  The more she thinks about it, looking at the stubborn set of his jaw, she decides it’s both.  “It seems a bit self-indulgent,” she says, “to have Captain America guarding me.  I rather doubt they’re going to attempt a second attack here.”

 

He looks at her and she knows it was a mistake to tease him, however gently.  “If you don’t want me here, then say that,” he says, his voice so very controlled.

 

She sighs, looking out the window.  He, as usual, has been so very earnest about everything.  She supposes perhaps it’s time she does the same.  “I don’t want you to go,” she says.  “But it does feel self-indulgent keeping you here.  Keeping you to myself.”  She doesn’t just mean today and she suspects he knows that.

 

“And if I appeared to be the same age as you, would it still feel that way?” he asks carefully, and with bitter insight.

 

She shakes her head.  “Probably not,” she admits.  She looks at him.  “Every instinct I have tells me that you should be with someone your own age, Steve.  Someone who can keep up with you, live a life with you.”

 

He shakes his head, closing his eyes in frustration.  “When I found you, you’d managed to take out two armed guards without using a weapon.”

 

“Yes, well,” she says dryly.  “The third one was giving me a hell of a time.”

 

“I can date someone who looks like they’re my age, Peg,” he said.  “But she’s never going to be able to keep up with me half as well as you.”  He sighs.  “And I don’t want anyone else, in case that matters to you at all.”

 

She feels doubly ridiculous because her cheeks stain with a blush.  “Where did you go?” she asks.  “After you left my basement?”

 

He frowns, slouching down in his chair, getting more comfortable.  “Howard has an apartment in Georgetown,” he says.  “I stayed there for a while.”

 

Peggy arches an eyebrow.  The nightlife surely must have been more interesting than her suburban retreat.  

 

He shrugs.  “After that, I found a place in Alexandria.  It’s a shithole and the commute is terrible.”

 

She hates herself for asking, but she must.  “Have you been seeing anyone?”

 

He’s silent, until she finally turns and looks at him, at which point he just frowns at her.  She takes that as a _no_ , and tries to ignore the warm satisfaction it brings.

 

“Fury shouldn’t have let you take that strike team,” Peggy says, her tone more conversational than chastising.

 

“I didn’t give Fury a choice,” Steve says, eyebrow arched.  He sighs and slumps back in the chair.  “Have you been seeing anyone?” he asks.

 

“Don’t be absurd,” she says.

 

“I mean it,” he presses.  “Or are you planning on living like a nun for the rest of your life?”

 

She looks at him.  “No,” she says, “I’m not.  It’s just ... “  She doesn’t even know what to say.  Why hasn’t she dated anyone since Daniel’s death?  Her gut reaction is that not enough time has passed.  Two years.  It hardly seems adequate to mourn a partner of nearly three decades.  She has been lonely, but not lonely enough to seek out companionship.  Not lonely enough to rearrange her life to accommodate anyone new.

 

“It’s just as well,” Steve says.  “He’d be irritated when I move back in.”

 

She narrows her gaze at him.  “You’re not moving back in.”

 

“I am,” he says, “unless you prefer Fury’s security detail staked out around your house twenty-four hours a day for the next twelve weeks.”  He shrugs with forced casualness.  “It’s your call, Director, of course.”

 

“Fury wouldn’t,” Peggy says darkly.

 

“Fury would,” Steve says, “it’s protocol.  You’re incapacitated and you don’t have anyone to help you.  Feel free to blame your age all you want, but I don’t think that’s part of it at all.  Your surgeon said twelve weeks for the ankle to heal, so you can have me for three months, or you can have Fury’s revolving band of criminals watching your every move.  They’d probably like your robe too.  Especially Pronge.”

 

She stares up at the ceiling.  “I hate you all.”

 

* * *

 

Steve’s threat isn’t precisely true, of course.  It is true that there are protocols which stipulate that someone in such a sensitive position as hers can’t simply be left to fend for themselves in an unsecured location when they are incapacitated.  Peggy finds it debateable whether or not her home is actually an unsecured location, or that she’s truly incapacitated.  Daniel managed quite well with only one leg, though he wasn’t on prescription pain medication and temporary crutches.  Either way, she may technically meet the definition, but certainly not for twelve weeks.  A week, maybe two at the outside.

 

There are any number of solutions that could be employed to solve the problem.  It isn’t simply a matter of choosing either Steve as a roommate, or Fury’s criminal surveillance, as Steve put it.  She could come up with other solutions.  But she doesn’t want to.  In this matter, she is all too happy to let Steve have his way.  She’s not even sure if she cares how pathetic that makes her.

 

Fury is the one to escort her home when she is finally released.  He’s had the security team go over the house with a fine tooth comb, setting extra sensors and alarms on the property.  Peggy strictly forbade bugs, overruling Fury and making it clear that if he crossed her on this, no one would ever find his body.  Her housekeeper is still at the house, finishing up dinner when they arrive.  Peggy invites Fury to join her, and he accepts.  The meal is a welcome change of pace.  She and Nick aren’t precisely friends, but they have a great deal of respect for one another and she was his mentor for many years.  The meal is leisurely and he doesn’t make it obvious that he lingers until Steve arrives.  When Steve arrives, he and Fury acknowledge one another, and Fury leaves.  Peggy isn’t sure what truce the two of them have reached, but it’s clear they have one, however uneasy.

 

Peggy nurses a gin and tonic as Steve eats.  She makes a mental note to tell Alice she’s going to have to start quadrupling the groceries.  Again.  She and Steve chat.  They’re actually fairly good at it, despite how acrimonious their exchanges can get from time to time.  He has an incredibly quick wit and an agile mind that is constantly looking beyond the obvious for answers.  He is so unlike anyone else she has ever known.  

 

When he finishes, he picks up the dishes.  She takes the opportunity while he’s distracted to start her torturously slow ascent of the stairs.  Days of inactivity combined with alcohol and pain medication certainly don’t make the task easy.  The noise of irritation he makes when he discovers what she’s doing is what she expected, but to his credit, he stands there and watches without interrupting.  She’s out of breath when she gets to the top, but she can do it.  She makes her way down the hall to her bedroom and closes the door.  She suspects he’s across the hall in her office, waiting.

 

Her nighttime routine was never quick and it certainly isn’t expedited by her injury.  By the time she’s in her nightgown and in bed, she’s utterly exhausted.  She looks at her closed door.  “You can come in,” she says.

 

In short order, the door swings open and he’s standing there.  He watches her for a long moment before he takes a deep breath and walks into the room.  Cautiously, he takes a seat at the foot of the bed on Daniel’s side, looking at her.

 

“You’re not staying in here,” she says.

 

“The couch in the office pulls out,” he says, confirming her assumption that he wasn’t returning to the basement.  At least not yet.

 

“Yes, I know.  I bought it.”

 

He finally smiles, seeming to give up.  He nods, pushing himself up.  He walks around to her side of the bed and presses a kiss to her cheek.  “Yell at me if you need anything,” he says.

 

She watches him go, enjoying the view.  She sighs to herself.  “Goodnight, Steve,” she calls.

 

“Goodnight, Peggy.”

 

END CHAPTER


	3. July 1974 - The Story of Peggy and the Trashy Novel

 

Peggy has rarely been more aware of her vanity than she has been these last few weeks.  She takes great pains with her appearance.  She’s been warring back and forth with herself as to whether or not she is a sad old woman.  It’s getting to the point that she’s not certain she even gives a damn anymore.  She is attractive, she knows that.  She’s always been what people have politely called a commanding presence, and less politely called a real ball buster.  She is respected and feared.  She could make just about anyone on the planet disappear with a single phone call.  Not that she would.  She’s not a sociopath.  But she could, if she wanted.

 

She reminds herself of all these things as she looks at the book sitting in the middle of her bathroom floor.  She leans back against the back of the tub, taking another drink of her gin and tonic.  Her dark hair is mounded on top of her head, her bad ankle propped up on the far end of the tub, out of the water, though the incisions have healed enough that it’s not a danger to get them wet.  The rest of her is mostly obscured with copious bubbles.  It has been a perfectly horrid week at work and she came home, intending to relax.  She poured herself a drink and ran a bath.  She grabbed the novel she was reading.  

 

She looks at the book again.  Dammit.  Of all the times to develop butterfingers.

 

She could just forget the book and soak in the tub.  But she wanted to read the book.  The problem is, she can’t reach the book without completely getting out of the tub, which she doesn’t want to do.  And if she calls for assistance, the odds of her being able to get back to the book are shot right to hell.  She takes another sip of her drink.  Oh, to hell with it.  “Steve!”

 

He’s outside the bathroom door in two seconds flat.  But he pauses, hand on the doorknob.  He pauses again and slowly pushes open the door.  “Are you okay?”

 

“I ... dropped my book,” she says, looking at the blasted book.

 

“Are you decent?”

 

“No,” she says, “but there are strategically arranged bubbles.”

 

Slowly he steps into the room.  He glances at her and then crouches down, balancing on the balls of his feet as he picks up the book.  He stares at the title.  He arches an eyebrow and looks sidelong at her.  “I didn’t take you for a trashy novel reader, Director.”

 

“Shows what you know,” she says, holding out her hand expectantly.

 

He looks at her, lips pursed together, still holding the book.  His gaze travels over her leg that’s propped along the edge of the tub, bare to mid thigh.  She’s always had nice legs.  And her toes are painted a vibrant crimson.  She may be somewhat incapacitated, but she’s not about to start letting things slide, especially not now, with him living here.  

 

He looks at the book again.  “What’re you willing to do for this?” he asks in blatant challenge.

 

She takes another drink, looking at him through narrowed eyes.  They’ve been dancing around one another for weeks - most recently.  Before that, for a month, and before that, for years.  In their most recent configuration as housemates, he has mostly maintained a respectable distance.  But it’s tempered by ... a certain possessiveness ... that she knows should worry her more than it does.  After that incident with the summit, something has changed for him.  He’s far less petulant now, far less frustrated.  At SHIELD, he’s simply started implementing changes.  The fact that he doesn’t precisely have the authority to do so hasn’t stopped him.  Largely because _she_ hasn’t stopped him.  And in the process, he’s learned he has more leverage than he realized.  She sets the glass down on the edge of the tub.  “What do you want?” she asks huskily.

 

She can see the color creep across the tops of his cheeks, but he doesn’t back down.  “A kiss,” he says.

 

She looks at him.  “A kiss?  For a book?”

 

He nods.  “Seems fair enough.  I did have to run in here.”

 

“No one told you to run.”

 

“You yelled my name.”

 

“Yes, well,” she says dryly.  “I will admit that when I imagined yelling your name, it wasn’t in these circumstances.  But still, a kiss, for you to hand me my book?”

 

He blinks at her slowly.  “You imagined yelling my name?”

 

She picks up her glass and takes another drink, looking at him over the top of the glass.  She sets it down.  “Yes,” she says.  “I did.  Have you?”

 

She can see the beat of his pulse in his neck.  “Yes,” he says carefully, "I have.”  His gaze travels back to her bare leg before once again finding her face.

 

She licks her lips.  “A kiss, you say?  A single kiss?”

 

He nods.

 

“Fine,” she says as haughtily as she can.

 

He pauses a moment, as if waiting to see if she’s going to rescind the agreement.  But she doesn’t.  She lounges and waits.  Slowly, he shifts, moving toward her, kneeling next to the tub.  He braces his forearms against the edge of the tub, leaning in toward her.  To his credit, he keeps his eyes on her face.  He leans in closer and her hand reaches up, threading through his hair, pulling him nearer still.  

 

His lips are soft against hers, waiting to see what she will do.  She teases at his lips until he parts them and she touches her tongue to his.  He shudders, leaning in farther, reaching across to brace one hand on the opposite side of the tub, deepening the kiss.  She meets him eagerly, slanting her mouth against his.  Her other hand finds his shoulder, using it to lever herself up against him, kissing him harder.  She forgot what this was like, being so close to him, tasting him.  It’s been so long.

 

He moves to get closer to her and his hand slips on the wet porcelain.  She loses her grip, sloshing backward against the tub.  He manages not to fall in, but the two of them sit there, breathing hard, looking at one another.  He presses his eyes closed for a long moment and then opens them, looking at her.  

 

“Let me stay with you tonight,” he says quietly.

 

Looking at him, she realizes there is literally nothing she would rather do more.  She swallows thickly and nods.  “Alright then.”

 

He looks at her, still in the tub.  “Do you want - ”

 

“Give me an hour,” she says.

 

He nods.  He pushes himself back and then rises to his feet.  He brushes his hair reflexively back from his forehead and awkwardly hands her the book.  

 

“Thank you,” she says.

 

He nods and turns, leaving the bathroom, shutting the door behind himself.  She looks at the book and then sighs, setting it on the edge of the tub.  She knew she wasn’t going to end up reading the damn thing if she yelled at him.

 

* * *

 

Peggy forces herself to take her time.  She lays back in the tub and finishes the gin and tonic as she reads a chapter of the book without paying attention to a single word.  She can hear water running through the pipes and she knows he’s taking a shower in the bathroom down the hall.  The sense of anticipation is so foreign, but undeniably intoxicating.  She hasn’t felt like this in years.  Point of fact, she doesn’t know that she ever felt like this.  Their last time together - their _only_ time together - there wasn’t opportunity for this type of anticipation, this slow burn.  It was hurried and harried, and all the sweeter for it.

 

Finally, she climbs out of the tub and pats herself dry.  She doesn’t reapply her makeup.  That would be ridiculous.  But some strategic powder and mascara.  Lipstick would be pointless.  She brushes out her hair and stares at herself in the mirror.  She doesn’t look twenty-five.  She doesn’t look like the beautiful brazen women who throw themselves at Steve any time he’s out in public these days.  Peggy knows he won’t be comparing her to them.  It isn’t his style.  But she does know that he will be comparing her to another version of herself, thirty years younger and firmer.  She steels her reserve and reminds herself that worldly as she was at twenty-five, she didn’t have anything on the wealth of knowledge she has now.  And she still looks damn good.

 

Wrapped in her towel, she sits on her bed, staring into her closet for a good ten minutes, debating, before she decides on the direct approach.  A matching crimson silk bra and panty set she bought a month ago, but has never worn.  Over it, she wraps herself in a black silk robe, neither special nor sentimental.  Tieing the belt, she thinks that she should have switched out the bulbs in the bedside lamps for something lower wattage.  The only problem with that is that she can’t read by the lower wattage bulbs - even if they do hide a multitude of flaws.  With Steve’s vision, it would probably be pointless anyway.  She hobbles over to her vanity and dabs perfume, Guerlain Vol de Nuit, at her pulse points.

 

She’s still standing at the vanity when there’s a quiet knock at her bedroom door.  “Come in,” she says.  Her back is to him, but she meets his gaze in the mirror.  He leans against the doorjamb, wearing a pair of dark jeans and a plain white undershirt.  He’s barefoot and his hair is still damp.  He shaved.  For a moment, their eyes meet and her breath catches in her throat.  He is one of the most attractive men she has ever known.

 

Slowly, he pushes off from the door and walks toward her.  She sets down the perfume bottle and turns to him.  He walks right up to her, setting his fingers lightly at her waist.  He leans down, his cheek next to hers and inhales deeply.  He moves so his lips are at the shell of her ear.  “It’s the same perfume you used to wear,” he says quietly.

 

She swallows thickly, placing her hands against his upper arms.  “Signature scent,” she says.  

 

“So you’ve always worn it,” he says, his breath hot against her skin.

 

She takes a deep breath.  “No,” she admits, “I only ever wore it for you.”  It’s not precisely true.  She wore it before she met him.  And she wore it while she knew him.  But she stopped wearing it after the Valkyrie crashed.  And in the twenty-nine intervening years, she studiously avoided it.  She picked up a new bottle, several weeks ago, at the same time as her lingerie purchase, and she’s been wearing it since.  

 

He pulls back slightly and looks at her hand resting against his bicep.  “You took off your ring,” he says quietly.

 

Point of fact, she took it off weeks ago.  And she knows that he already knew that.  He noticed immediately.  As did Fury.  Though neither of them mentioned it.  It was around the same time as her lingerie and perfume purchase.  “Yes, well,” she says, “it felt disrespectful to wear the ring Daniel gave me while you’re sleeping in the house.”

 

He looks down at her and she marvels at his eyes.  She’s always loved them.  “Why?” he asks.

 

She frowns. “Don’t play coy, Steve,” she says.  “You know exactly why.”

 

He nods and leans down pressing feather light kisses against the side of her neck.  She sighs and pushes into the contact.  “You told me that nothing was going to happen,” he says, his hands pulling her closer.

 

“I am accustomed to dealing with dynamic situations,” she says, concentrating on the words.  “I like to be prepared for any eventuality.”

 

She can feel him smile against her neck. “You knew you were going to let me in here,” he says.

 

“That too,” she admits.  “You’re very persistent.  And sinfully attractive.  The secretary pool has had a running bet for weeks to see who could be the first to get a date with you.”

 

He turns his head and captures her lips, kissing her deeply.  She threads her fingers through his hair, holding him close.  He bites down on her bottom lip and then pulls back.  “I don’t want one of the girls from the secretary pool,” he says.  “I have my sights set higher.”

 

“And too charming by half,” she amends.  She has always been charmed by him, but until recently it wasn’t because he was particularly charming.  She’s not sure when that happened.  Sometime after the debacle at the summit.  He used to be so tentative, so unsure, but he isn’t now.  And it is as intoxicating as the rest of him.

 

He shifts and she moves to follow, in the process, putting too much weight on her foot and grimacing in pain.  He stops, steadies her, and once he’s sure it’s nothing more than a passing twinge, he scoops her up in his arms and carries her to the bed. It’s ridiculous, of course.  One adult carrying another around.  But it thrills her, how perfectly effortless it is for him, how terribly strong and sure and solid he is.

 

He sets her gently on the bed, head against the mounded pillows, legs stretched out in front of her.  He takes a seat, his hip near hers, his upper body turned toward her.  She reaches out, grabbing a fistful of his t-shirt, pulling him close.  He leans forward with a smile, capturing her lips.  As they kiss, she scoots over, making room for him and he stretches out next to her, his hand skimming over the silk robe.

 

He eventually breaks the kiss and pulls back, looking at her intently.  His arms are wrapped around her, holding her.  “I want to be clear,” he says deliberately, looking her in the eyes, “this is _not_ casual.”

 

She rolls her eyes, amused with the way he’s irritated with the modern world.  “Steve, I haven’t had casual sex in nearly thirty years.”

 

He watches her through narrowed eyes.  “Who?” he asks.

 

She frowns at him.  “No one you know,” she says, aware she’s implying that their last time together _wasn’t_ casual either.  And it wasn’t.  It was meant to be the start of something.  She just hadn’t anticipated the three decade delay in the middle of the action.

 

“A lady never tells,” she continues.  He’s clearly irritated, so she decides to turn the tables.  “And you?” she asks.  “Has there been anyone for you?”

 

“You were my only,” he says flatly, “and then I crashed in the ice.”

 

“Yes,” she says, more gently, not wanting to sound disapproving if he has sought out companionship, “but you’ve been thawed out for a while now and I’m sure the secretary pool aren’t the only ones with eyes on you.”

 

He gives her a sour look.  “I’ve never wanted casual sex,” he says.  “Being stuck in the ice didn’t change that.  And I’m certainly not going to go out looking for it while I’m living with you.”  He takes a deep breath.  “I want _you_ , Peggy.  I’ve always wanted you.  The right partner.”  His arms tighten around her, as if to underscore the point.  She knows, in that moment, that the age difference truly doesn’t matter to him.   _If_ he even notices it, which she’s not sure that he does.  He looks at her and he simply sees Peggy.

 

She blinks quickly against the tears and looks away.  He leans toward her and she meets him, kissing him.  As much as she still thinks he belongs with someone his own age, there is a violently selfish part of her who wants to keep him all to herself - forever.  She doesn’t want to share him with anyone.  And some part of her believes that no pretty young thing from the secretary pool could ever truly appreciate him the way she does.  Luckily, it seems that Steve agrees.

 

As they kiss, his hands begin to roam a bit more freely.  His palm skirts the edge of her breast, over the robe.  Not content with his pacing, Peggy grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it up.  He immediately responds to her request, pulling it over his head and tossing it away.

 

“Jesus,” she swears, looking at him, “I forgot how impressively proportioned you are.”  She runs her hands over his shoulders and chest.  She sees any number of fit young men in her daily life, but never in this context.  And truthfully, they’re not as impressive as Steve.  He arches into her touch like a cat, even while a blush stains his cheeks.  

 

Tentatively, he pulls at the edge of her robe.  She looks at him and he meets her gaze, though his blush deepens.  She lays back against the pillows so there is room between their bodies, moving her hands so he can reach the belt of her robe.  Ideally, she would like to be leading the proceedings, but her ankle would not agree to those terms, so she lets him set the pace.

 

His brow pinches together with concentration and determination as he reaches for the belt and gently tugs it loose.  Gingerly, he grasps the material and pulls it back, swallowing audibly as he sees the crimson silk of her bra.  He starts to reach for her and then stops, looking at her for permission.

 

She smiles at him, lounging against the pillows.  “By all means, Captain,” she says with a smirk.

 

He frowns at her momentarily, but the expression is gone, replaced by intense concentration as his fingers play lightly over the silk.  He cups her gently and she bites back a moan, shifting restlessly on the bed, mindful of her ankle.  He leans over her, pressing kisses at the edge of her bra, across the tops of her breasts.  She parts her legs and he insinuates one denim covered thigh between hers.  She can’t help but arch up against him and he groans against her skin.  “ _Fuck_ , Peg.”

 

“That’s the idea,” she says, raking her nails through his hair.

 

He makes a frustrated noise and moves.  Before Peggy’s entirely sure what’s happening, he’s pulled her closer to the foot of the bed, away from the pillows and completely insinuated himself between her legs.  He’s over her, arching against her and she hisses through her teeth at the feel of his hardness against her.  Her hands find his shoulders, her nails biting into the corded muscle.  He is so deliciously, decadently masculine.  She has no idea why she kept him at bay for so long.  He kisses the tops of her breasts again, his nimble fingers finding the closure of her bra and releasing it, allowing him to pull the material down and away.  His lips seal over one of her nipples and she arches into him, yelping.

 

He releases her nipple, capturing her lips again, his hand replacing his mouth as he cups her breast.  They kiss for long minutes, grinding against one another.  She finally reaches down, cupping him through the material of his jeans.  Fuck, he’s so hard.  She squeezes him lightly and he groans her name.  She quickly releases the button and inches the zipper down before reaching inside and cupping him under his shorts, skin to skin.  It’s his turn to yelp and thrust against her.  The shape of him, the feel of him so hot and hard against her palm.  She wants him.

 

“Fuck me, Steve,” she orders.

 

He looks up at her, his eyes slightly glazed.  

 

She knows he wants to say something about taking their time, so she wraps her fingers around his cock and strokes him from root to tip.  “ _Now_ ,” she says.

 

He nods and pushes himself up, yanking her panties down her legs and then removing his jeans and shorts in record speed.  In no time, he’s between her legs again.  She reaches down and guides him in.  They both groan as he slowly pushes forward, not stopping until he’s seated to the hilt.

 

He looks down at her and kisses her again.  And again.  Peggy loves the kissing, she does, but she wants more.  She runs her heel up the back of his thigh, urging him to move.  He pulls back and pushes forward setting a slow, but steady pace.  His eyes are screwed shut in concentration.

 

“I won’t break,” she assures him, capturing his bottom lip between her teeth and biting down.

 

He seems to take it to heart and on the next stroke, he drives into her, sending the headboard slamming back against the wall.  

 

“ _Yes_ ,” she says, nodding, urging him on.  He moves against her with a single minded purpose and she clutches him close.  She had no idea just how badly she wanted this, needed this.  The feel of him, above her, inside her.  

 

And then suddenly he’s gone, scooting back off the end of the bed, kneeling there.  He grabs her legs and pulls her and the comforter to the end of the bed, hooking her thighs over his shoulders.  He meets her eyes before he leans forward, parting her with his tongue, teasing her.

 

“ _Steve!_ ” she yells, fisting her hand in his hair as his lips seal over her clit, sucking, as he uses his fingers to enter her.  She honestly isn’t sure which is more exciting, the act itself, or the fact that it’s Steve.  He brings her to two quick peaks before allowing her to collapse back on the bed, breathing hard.  She lifts her head and looks at his smug smile.  He’s been planning this.

 

She pushes herself up on her elbows and then scoots back up the bed, resting her head on the pillows.  She lays there, legs spread in wanton invitation.  “Should we see about you now, Soldier?”

 

He’s on her in a heartbeat, sliding home as he kisses her.  He starts to move and she bites his earlobe before saying, “Don’t tease me, Steve.  I want to see you come.”

 

He shudders, but nods and drives into her harder, faster.  “Peggy, I -”

 

“Yes, darling,” she says, using her heel to pull him harder against her.  His hips slam against hers and he holds himself there for a long moment before releasing a shuddering breath and slumping forward.  He manages to brace his weight on his elbows so he doesn’t collapse onto her, but he’s spent.  He rolls over onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes as he tries to catch his breath.

 

Peggy reaches over and pats his thigh, smiling.  Taking the small towel she tucked in the nightstand, she tidies up.  As soon as she sets the towel down, Steve pulls her back to him, kissing her languidly.  He arranges the covers and reaches over, turning off the lamp.  

 

They lay there in the dark together for a long time, kissing and touching.  Peggy traces an idle pattern on his hip.  He takes a deep breath and she waits.  She knows he’s been working up to whatever it is he’s going to say for some time.

 

“So, really,” he says quietly.  “Who was it?”

 

He brow furrows for a moment while she tries to puzzle out what he’s asking.  “The casual sex?” she asks.

 

“Yeah,” he says, no doubt trying to sound more calm about the whole thing than he truly is.

 

She shrugs.  If it were anyone else, there is no way she would indulge this line of questioning, but because it’s Steve, she humors him.  She does understand that from his perspective, thirty years ago was weeks ago, not decades.  

 

“There were liaisons before I met you,” she says.  “You know, the war and all.  Sometimes the moment struck, but it was never a love match.”  She’d been so damn young.  It felt right, natural.  She hadn’t wanted commitment, but when she found a compatible partner who accepted her terms, she saw no reason not to take advantage of the situation.  Especially when one never knew if one was going to be blown to bits.

 

“And after me?” he presses.

 

She sighs.  This is much messier territory.  “I missed you,” she says.  “So profoundly.”  She reaches out and threads her fingers through his.  As if the action can somehow assure the younger version of herself that it will be okay.  That she will find him again.  It’s pointless and overwrought.  She shakes her head.  “I tried to remind myself that I was alive,” she says.  “It wasn’t something I’m proud of.  It wasn’t liberated.  I was acting out of grief and rage.”  She takes a deep breath.  “Luckily that time of my life passed relatively quickly.”

 

“And you met Daniel,” he says.

 

“Yes,” she says quietly.  “I met him in the SSR office in New York after the war.  He was a veteran.”  She pauses.  “He was actually one of the prisoners you liberated at Azzano.  He lost his left leg, just above the knee.  It could have limited his opportunities within the SSR, if he’d allowed it.  He didn’t.  The cripple and the token dame.  We were quite the pair.”

 

“What was he like?” Steve asks.

 

Peggy frowns, considering how to characterize Daniel, especially to Steve.  “He was a good man,” she says.  “A good husband.  Great father.  He tried to make the world a better place.”

 

“So you found love, “ Steve says.

 

“I did.”  She pauses, choosing her words carefully.  “I knew Daniel for a long time before there was anything between us,” she says.  She takes a deep breath.  How odd that it should still be so painful, even now, with him in her bed.  “I mourned you, Steve.  For years.”  She swallows thickly.  “Losing you.  It shaped who I was.  Gave me purpose.  I was a better person for having known you.  I tried to never forget that.”

 

He makes a frustrated noise and shifts, moving so he’s spooned against her back, wrapping himself around her.  “I’m not sure I can live up to my own legend,” he says dryly.

 

She laughs.  “Of course you can,” she says.  “Without even trying.”

 

He sighs loudly and she knows he’s not convinced.  One step at a time, she supposes.  She wonders if the exhibit at the Smithsonian is making things better or worse from his perspective.  Probably worse.  Despite what people might gather from his history with the USO, she knows he’s not one who welcomes publicity.  

 

“How is your ankle?” he asks.

 

“It’s fine right now,” she says.  “It will be killing me tomorrow.”

 

“Sorry,” he says quietly, “if any - “

 

“I swear to God, Steve, if you apologize for anything that happened tonight, I will banish you to the basement again.”

 

He harumphs and presses his face against the back of her neck.  “I’m not going back to the basement.”

 

She doesn’t say anything because he’s right.  He’s not going back to the basement.  He’s finally right where he belongs.

  
  


END CHAPTER


	4. The Story of Steve, the Grenade, and Other Landmines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> August 1974. Steve and Howard talk.

** August 1974 **

 

“A circuit board?” Steve asks, brow furrowed.  He only understands every other word this kid says.  Tony nods, clearly pleased with himself.  If there was ever any doubt that this kid was a Stark, that smug smile would put them to rest.

 

“You talk to Peg lately?” Howard asks, lighting a cigarette.

 

“Yeah,” Steve says absently, most of his attention on the things Tony’s trying to show him, “this morning.”

 

Howard shakes his hand to extinguish the match and frowns at Steve.  “This morning?” he says.  “It’s Sunday.  And it’s still morning.”

 

Steve looks at Howard and opens his mouth to try and come up with an excuse, but none, even the legitimate ones, are forthcoming.  “Uh ...”

 

“Steve, did you spent the night with Peggy?” Howard asks, smiling.

 

Tony puts something in Steve’s hand and Steve looks down at it.  It’s a grenade.

 

“It’s a dud,” Howard says blandly.  “Maria!” he bellows.  “Come get the kid.”

 

Shaking his head, Steve sets the grenade gingerly on a nearby table as Tony crawls under Howard’s desk, hiding.  Steve has no idea what to think of Howard and his parenting style.  It’s not unorthodox, necessarily, but it’s not what Steve expected.  And it makes him a little uncomfortable.  Tony clearly worships his father and Howard mostly seems annoyed by his son, though Steve suspects Howard loves Tony.

 

Maria walks into the room, smiling at Steve.  She seems really nice and Steve’s not sure how Howard managed to marry her.  She’s also younger than Steve.  Steve is irritated, but not shocked, that his relationship with Peggy is considered scandalous because of their age difference, while Howard’s May-December marriage doesn't merit mentioning.

 

Tony complains as Maria coaxes him out from under the desk, but he goes with her.  Howard watches them leave, sinking back in his chair, reaching for his bloody mary.  “That kid,” he says fondly, “too damn smart.  Can’t sit still for a second.”

 

“What’s the saying,” Steve says, watching Howard fidget, “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree?”

 

Howard smiles, pleased with the comparison.  He leans forward, looking at Steve.  “You look good,” he says, flicking ash into the ashtray.  “Better than the last time I saw you.  Looks like you’re sleeping, eating.”

 

“I’m fine,” Steve says cautiously.

 

“Yeah?” Howard asks, clearly suspicious.  “I bet Peg’s bed is nice and comfy.  And her housekeeper’s a decent cook.”

 

“ _Howard_ ,” Steve says, the warning clear.

 

“I’m not judging,” Howard says.  “I’m just curious.  I mean, it’s been years since Danny died.  Peg deserves to have someone who makes her happy.  She’s always liked you.  And I’m led to believe that women generally find your looks appealing.”

 

Steve doesn’t respond.

 

“No?” Howard asks, eyebrow arched.  “So I guess if I want to set her up with one of my friends who’s a VP at Lockheed, you won’t mind.”

 

“I mind,” Steve says sourly.

 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Howard says, chuckling.  “Go, Carter.”

 

Steve shakes his head, irritated.  “I’m living at her house right now.  Protection detail while she’s laid up with her broken ankle.”

 

“Oh, yes,” Howard says with mock severity, “I’m sure something's laid up.  I suspect you could probably protect her from slightly farther away than you do.”  Steve doesn’t respond and Howard sobers.  “I saw her last week,” he says quietly.  “She was wearin’ that perfume she used to wear during the war.  Took me back.”  He smiles at Steve.  “I knew you two were doin’ it.”

 

Steve sighs and sinks in his chair, not about to comment on Howard's speculation.  Howard may be older, but he’s certainly no more mature than the man Steve knew thirty years ago.

 

“What about you?” Steve asks.  “How’d you end up married with a kid?”

 

Howard shrugs and Steve has no doubt that Howard really doesn’t have much of a clue how it happened.  Judging from some of the stories Peg shared about Howard after the end of the war, it wouldn’t be the first time.  

 

“Maria’s ...”  Howard falls silent.  “She’s amazing.”  He takes a deep breath.  “She’s ... refreshing,” he says.  “Seems like the last few years haven’t been anything but one loss after another.”  He shakes his head.  “She makes me feel young.”  He shrugs.  “She wanted kids, so, we have Tony.”

 

Steve nods.

 

“Guess that’s not an option for you two,” Howard says quietly.  “Women’s lib can only go so far, even for Peggy Carter.  It’s still a man’s world.  We still have more freedom.”

 

“Freedom to have your first kid in your fifties,” Steve says dubiously.  He’s not sure that’s all that much of a bonus, at least for Howard.  Howard, for all his immaturity is more rigid now than he used to be.  Steve doubts that helps his relationship with Tony at all.

 

Howard tilts his head, frowning.  “You two could always adopt.”

 

“Howard,” Steve says, “I’ve barely managed to convince her to get involved with me.  And Peggy already has two kids.  We’re not really looking to expand the family.”

 

“So you don’t want kids?” Howard asked, sounding legitimately shocked.  Steve suspects it’s a case of misery loving company.  Howard wants to watch someone else struggle with parenthood.

 

“I - “ Steve starts and stop.  “I never really thought about it,” he says honestly.  “Besides, even with the age difference, Peg’s still got a better life expectancy than me.  You know, hazardous working conditions.”

 

Howard waves him off with a frown, like it’s absurd.  Steve considers bringing up the Valkyrie but decides against it.  

 

“Her kids know about you yet?” Howard asks.

 

“Not yet,” Steve says.  Truthfully, he’s not looking forward to it.  As much as he truly does not care about the age difference between himself and Peggy, the idea of having a potential step-son who is his own age is ... odd.

 

“Well, that should be fun,” Howard says with a chuckle.  “You enjoy yourself.  If memory serves, David can be a real pain in the ass.”  He seems to consider the situation for a moment.  “He did get married recently.  Maybe he’s mellowed out.”  He looks over at Steve.  “But don’t count on it.  He's a lot like his mother.”

 

“Thank you, Howard,” Steve says dryly.

 

“Don’t mention it, pal.”

 

END CHAPTER


	5. April 1974 - The Story of Peggy's Jewelry

“Perhaps your son would care to see the wine list,” the waiter said helpfully.

 

Peggy’s lips pursed together and her eyes twinkled.  “He doesn’t drink,” she said.  “But I’ll have a gin and tonic.”

 

“He’s also not her son,” Steve said sourly, glaring at the waiter.  “He’s her date.”

 

The waiter blushed.  “Of course, sir,” he said with a nod, leaving.

 

Peggy lit a cigarette and took a drag, watching Steve.  “I told you,” she said, still trying not to smile.  She winked at him.

 

He shook his head and rolled his eyes, looking away.  “I am actually older than you, you know.”

 

“You were born before me,” she said, tapping the ash into the ashtray.  “You’re not older than me.”

 

He looked at her, nonplussed.  It was a tired argument.  He insisted he was older, which, as the waiter’s assumptions made spectacularly clear, was not the case.  He may have been born in 1918, but today, in 1974, he was only twenty-six.  Peggy, on the other hand, had lived every second of her fifty-five years.  She was twice his age.  And looked it.  Though she did know she looked damn good for fifty-five.  She had better, considering how much effort she put into it.

 

When they were together, they tended to stay in.  However, Steve insisted on going out.  She warned him, but he was making a point, so she relented.  People’s assumptions bothered him far more than they bothered her.  At this point in her life, she did not give a shit what anyone thought about what she did, or who she did it with.  Poor Steve.  For as adaptable as he was, Peggy didn’t think he was ready for the social mores of the 1970s.  He was very much a product of his time.

 

The rest of their dinner passed without incident.  Afterward, they walked.  It wasn’t the greatest neighborhood, but Peggy was fairly certain that between the two of them, they could handle any potential problems.

 

“You should find a nice girl,” Peggy said.

 

“I have a nice girl,” he replied.

 

She looked at him.  “No.  You don’t,” she said, shaking her head.

 

He frowned at her.  “I’m not finding a new girl,” he said, sounding very petulant.

 

“So what is this, then?” she asked, keeping her tone light.  “The holidays are fast approaching.  Do you want me to invite you to Thanksgiving dinner with my family?  My son’s wife is pregnant with my first grandchild.  Are you ready to be grandpa?”

 

He looked over at her.  “Have you told them about me?”

 

“About Captain America?  Certainly.  They know all about you,” she said.

 

“You know what I mean,” he said dryly, taking her hand and placing it over his arm as they walked side by side.

 

She smiled.  “Have I told them that Captain America’s boots are now under their deceased father’s side of the bed?  No, I have not.  There’s a difference between not caring what people think and actively courting a family fight.”

 

“So you don’t think they would approve?”

 

“I think they would find it deeply uncomfortable,” she said, looking at him.  “And you?  Do your friends know you’re dating a woman old enough to be your mother?”

 

“I don’t have friends.”

 

“ _Steve_ ,” she chided.  “Jesus.  Always the drama with you.  I know you still talk to Dugan and Howard.  And surely you’re friendly with some of your new unit.”

 

He frowned.  “Dugan and Howard know,” he said.  “They both said the same thing.”

 

“What?” she asked, curious.

 

“ _Go Carter_.”

 

She laughed.  “Indeed.”


	6. November 1974 - The Story of Steve and the Stolen Bottle of Wine

“You’re _sure_ ,” he asks carefully.

 

There’s a pause.  “Yes, of course,” she says.  “See you at seven.”

 

Steve hears the dial tone and looks at the receiver in his hand before carefully setting it back in the cradle.  He feels like this is inevitable.  He just isn’t sure if it’s an inevitable next step, or an inevitable disaster in the making.  Knowing his life, it’s probably both.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve knocks on the door and waits.  He has a key, of course.  He also knows that if he climbs up on top of the porch, he can jimmy up the window in the office and slip inside, regardless of all of Fury’s safeguards.  However, neither of those options are advisable right now.

 

The door is finally pulled open and a young woman stands there.  Steve knows she’s twenty-three, but she looks younger.  She has a mass of dark, curling hair and dark eyes.  She doesn’t particularly resemble Peggy, but Steve knows this is her daughter, Sarah.  Her school pictures line the hallway upstairs and her highschool graduation portrait sits on Peggy’s bedside table.

 

“Uh, hi,” Steve says.

 

“Holy shit,” Sarah says under her breath.  “I thought Dave was just being an asshole.”

 

“Pardon?” Steve says, hoping to God he doesn’t sound as awkward as he feels.

 

Sarah shakes her head, as if trying to clear it.  “Sorry,” she says brightly, smiling.  “Uh, come in, Captain Rogers.”

 

Steve nods, not sure what to think of the fact that she knows who he is.  They’re putting together an exhibit at the Smithsonian, so it’s not like he isn’t recognizable.  He guesses.  He reaches up and adjusts his tie, following Sarah through the house.

 

Sarah’s reaction answers one of Steve’s more pressing questions - whether or not Peggy warned anyone he was coming.  Clearly, she did not.  Admittedly, it was a very last minute decision.  He wasn’t supposed to be here - though that does seem to be the story of his life lately.   He was on a mission, should have been deployed through the weekend, but they had a stroke of luck, picked up the target early and made it back in time for the holiday.  He hadn’t even been to his apartment.  He came here straight from the office.  Though, it’s debatable if he would have gone to his apartment anyway.  He spends the bulk of his downtime here, with Peggy.  They’re not exactly living together.  But they’re not exactly _not_ living together either.

 

Sarah turns the corner into the formal dining room, which is full of dinner guests.  Steve smiles tightly as Sarah says, “We, uh, have another guest.”  There is a couple sitting on the other side of the table.  Peggy’s son, David, and his wife, Laurie.  Steve recognizes David from when Peggy was in the hospital.  On the side of the table closest to where Steve stands is Nick Fury.  Steve saw his car in the drive and he wonders if Peggy invited him on the off chance that Steve would be here.  He knows that Peggy and Nick’s rapport has improved significantly since her kidnapping, but he didn’t think Nick was Thanksgiving dinner material.  The same could probably be said of Steve himself.

 

David rises to his feet and reaches out to shake Steve’s hand.  “I’m David Sousa, Peggy’s son,” he says, gripping Steve’s hand firmly.

 

Steve nods.  “Steve Rogers,” he says, omitting any other qualifiers.

 

David turns, “This is my wife, Laurie.”  Steve shakes her hand.  “I’m assuming you already met Sarah,” David says.

 

Sarah blushes.  

 

“We weren’t introduced,” Steve says, “but I know who she is.”

 

David smiles tightly.  He motions toward the bottle Steve is holding.  “Can I - “

 

“Oh, yeah,” Steve says, handing him the bottle he brought.  

 

David looks at it.  “Ah,” he says, reading the label.  “Mom will be pleased.”

 

Steve doesn’t say anything.  He already knew it was Peggy’s favorite wine.  He actually grabbed the bottle out of the bottom left desk drawer at the office on his way over, since no stores are open on the holiday.  

 

“This is her favorite,” David says, looking at Steve.  “She usually has it imported directly from France.”

 

Steve just smiles, standing there awkwardly.  He glances at the table.  The only open spot is at the head of the table.  Oh, damn.  Where the hell is Peggy?

 

On cue, she walks into the room, glancing around.  “Oh,” she says, seeing the bottle.  She reaches around Steve, holding her hand out to David.  Her other hand rests lightly at the small of Steve’s back, a thoughtless gesture, one she’s used a thousand times in the last couple of months.

 

David looks pointedly at them before slowly handing over the bottle.  Steve just stands there and waits, needing some indication from Peggy as to how to proceed.  She looks at the bottle and then at Steve.  “You took this out of my desk,” she says.

 

“You can’t prove anything,” he replies easily.

 

She rolls her eyes.  “Grab the corkscrew,” she says.  “We’re all going to need a drink.”

 

Fury chuckles as Steve heads to the kitchen for the corkscrew, happy for the reprieve.  There are caterers in the kitchen, which does not surprise Steve.  Peggy does not like to cook.  He grabs the corkscrew and heads back to the dining room.  When he walks in, another place as been set - at the head.  He looks at Peggy and she meets his gaze, holding it steadily.

 

“So I guess in this case the rumors are true.  Captain America is sleeping with my mother,” David says.

 

“ _Jesus, Dave_ ,” Sarah says at the same time as Laurie reaches over and puts her hand on David’s arm.

 

“What?” David snaps at Sarah.  “You’re okay with this?”

 

 _“It’s Thanksgiving_ ,” Sarah hisses.  “Do you have to ruin it?”

 

“I’m not the one who brought a kid as a dinner date,” David bites back.

 

“I’m older than you,” Steve says flatly.  “For the record, I’m older than Peggy too.”  He takes a deep breath and continues, “And yes, we are dating.  I understand if you have a problem with that, but do not disrespect her.  Especially in front of me.”

 

David sits there, clearly considering his reply.  Laurie looks like she wants to crawl under the table and Nick Fury looks like he hasn’t had this much fun in years.  Peggy shakes her head and starts pouring the wine.

 

“Do you live here?” David asks Steve.

 

“I have an apartment in Alexandria,” Steve says, taking a seat.

 

“Yeah,” David says suspiciously, “you ever stay there?”  He almost immediately hunches forward grunting and it’s obvious Sarah has kicked him as hard as she can under the table.

 

Peggy sits back in her chair and downs half her glass of wine in one go, immediately pouring herself more.  One of the caterers pokes their head in the doorway and Peggy waves them in.  “David,” she says flatly, “save it until after dinner.  This cost a bloody fortune.”

 

Much to Steve’s shock and relief, David actually backs off during dinner.  There is civil conversation, mostly driven by Sarah, though everyone participates.  David, when he’s not attacking, has a quick and dry sense of humor that Steve rather appreciates.  Laurie is quiet, but she seems sweet.  She and David have apparently been together since their early teens.  

 

After dinner, they move into the living room so the caterers can clean up.  Steve sits on the end of one of the two couches and Peggy takes a seat next to him.  David looks irritated, but he doesn’t say anything and Steve suspects that Laurie took him aside.

 

They manage to get through the after dinner conversation without a fight.  Nick is the first one to leave, but as soon as he stands up, Laurie does too, dragging David with her.  There are some tense goodbyes, but David and Laurie leave shortly after Nick.

 

Sarah excuses herself and heads up to her room.

 

Peggy and Steve are standing in the kitchen and Peggy pours the last of the wine into a glass.  

 

“So, your son hates me,” Steve says.

 

“He hates everyone,” Peggy says dryly.  Then she winces and looks at Steve. “He doesn’t _hate_ you.  It has far more to do with me than you.”  She sighs.  “David wants to make a name for himself and I think he finds my shadow to be stifling.  It was somewhat easier when Daniel was here to buffer, but it’s never been easy.”

 

Steve frowns, unconvinced.  “I’m gonna go,” he says.

 

She looks at him.  “You’re not staying?”

 

“Sarah’s right down the hall,” Steve says.

 

“So we’ll be quiet,” Peggy says.  She sighs again.  “I love my children.  I do.  But I do not intend to reorder my life in order to protect their sensibilities.  I am an adult.  You are an adult.  They’re adults.”

 

“What happened to not telling them that Captain America’s boots are under their father’s side of the bed?” he asks pointedly.

 

She winces.  “Yes, well, I’ve reconsidered.”

 

“Reconsidered what?” he asks.

 

“The importance of my own happiness,” she says, meeting his gaze.

 

He watches her and slowly steps closer, pressing her back against the kitchen island.  She smiles and he leans down, his lips brushing against her ear.  “Do I make you happy, Director?”

 

She laughs quietly and looks up at him.  She sets down the glass of wine and wraps her arms around his neck.  “You make me unbelievably happy, Captain Rogers,” she says conspiratorially.

 

“That’s good,” he says.  “Because we have four weeks until we have to do this again for Christmas.”

 

She groans.  “Do you have to ruin the moment?”

 

“Yes,” he says.  “But I promise to make it up to you.”  He kisses her.

 

END STORY


	7. OiM 1/5 - The Story of Steve’s Homecoming - Aug. 1977

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone’s past catches up with them eventually. For seasoned SHIELD Director Peggy Carter, her past is in the form of the thirty year old Steve Rogers who shares her bed, her life and her future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really debated about making this section into its own self-contained story, but ultimately I decided against it. This is a 5 chapter arc. The overall arc is titled "Object In Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear". The chapter titles will be prefaced with OiM ?/5 depending on the chapter.
> 
> I hope that's not too confusing.

**Objects in Mirror - Chapter 1**

**The Story of Steve’s Homecoming**

**August 1977**

 

Peggy looks down at the note from her secretary, left hours earlier when he was leaving for the day.  The two strike teams are back, safe on American soil. No casualties or injuries.  These are the first ops in three months with no problems.  Jesus.  How did they manage to muck up the world this badly?  She needs to talk to Howard, but she doesn’t want to talk to Howard.  These days he’s not one to play peacemaker.  He escalates everything and the last thing she wants is escalation, especially when escalation lines Howard’s pockets.

 

Peggy finishes the last of her bourbon and sets the tumbler down on the desk, staring at it blindly.  David, her only son, is sick.  But nobody is telling her that David is sick.  They’re so emphatically  _ not _ telling her that she knows it must be bad.  David has been benched for months, though Peggy hasn’t hunted for an official explanation.  Initially, she was relieved to discover he was riding a desk at Langley.  At least until her daughter, Sarah, called Steve at work three weeks ago.  Peggy wonders when Sarah’s going to figure out what an abysmal poker face Steve possesses.

 

David’s new assignment, coupled with Sarah’s call, put the miscarriage David’s wife, Laurie, suffered six months ago into a new light.  Peggy knows in her heart that the events are related.  Peggy knows what it means to send young men into theatres of war, covertly or otherwise.  She knows what it can cost them, and the people who love them.  Peggy’s not a doctor, but she is a betting woman.  And she’d put her money on Agent Orange exposure and all of its myriad and horrific outcomes.  She wonders if it’s cancer, or something else, but she can’t quite bring herself to ask.

 

The last few weeks Peggy hasn’t had much time to dwell on David’s health.  There’s been one global crisis after another.  She thought she was accustomed to sending Steve into harm’s way, but it’s getting harder and harder to maintain the required level of professional detachment.  This last op, in particular, was horrific. It should have been a simple extraction, but nothing these days is simple.  She saw the photos.  All of the bodies, many of them children.  Tortured.  She hates sending him into these situations, even though he was invaluable.  Anybody else would have turned it into an international incident.  Steve didn’t.  He helped.  He defused the situation.  He saved lives.

 

Peggy shrugs out of her blazer and kicks off her shoes, propping her feet on her desk as she reaches for the phone.  A half dozen phone calls later, she is wiped out and ready to put her fist through a wall.  She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, frowning, hating everything.  Pushing herself to her feet, she pads over to the credenza, barefoot, intending to pour herself another drink.

 

There’s a perfunctory knock on her office door and Steve strides through, closing and locking the door behind himself.  He looks awful.  He’s wearing a white t-shirt and dark blue fatigue pants.  It’s clear he hasn’t showered.  There are still smudges of grime on his cheek and he’s got a good week of facial hair, which makes him seem older than he is.

 

The look in his eyes isn’t anything she’s seen from him before, but she knows what it means.  She sets the tumbler down just before he reaches for her.  He pulls her hard against his chest, dipping his head to kiss her deeply.  He’s frantic, upset.  She can feel the coiled tension in his body.  His kisses are hard and demanding, his hands roaming possessively over her.  He lifts her, setting her on the edge of the credenza, insinuating himself between her legs, forcing her skirt up.  She pulls at his shirt, tugging it over his head and tossing it away, scraping her fingernails down the muscled planes of his back, causing his breath to hiss between his teeth.  Grabbing the two halves of her blouse, he pulls, ripping the material, sending mother of pearl buttons flying before he skims his fingers over the silk of her camisole, cupping her breast.  

 

“Need you,” he mumbles between biting kisses.  “ _ Now _ .”

 

“I know,” she says, pulling him close, wrapping her legs around his waist.  She’s wearing a garter belt and stockings, so they pose no impediment.  He tugs at the material of her panties until it rips and then his fingers are there, rubbing her, parting her.  She fumbles with the fly of his trousers before pushing the material down his lean hips.  She strokes him once, twice, then he’s batting her hand away, positioning himself at the entrance to her body.

 

He pushes into her, his mouth against her ear, his hands cupping her ass, pulling her to the very edge of the credenza.  She shifts the angle of her hips, allowing her to take him deeper and he groans.  He drives into her, hard and fast, racing toward his own release.  She knows he’s close, but he slows, his fingers fumbling for her.

 

Shaking her head, she says, “It’s okay, Steve.  It’s okay.”

 

She can hear him grind his teeth together, but he picks up the pace again and in short order his body goes taut.  He releases a breath, slumping against her, breathing hard.  She reaches up and toys with the hair at the nape of his neck, pressing hard kisses along his cheekbone.  “My darling,” she whispers.

 

He nods and then straightens up, slowly withdrawing, guiding her legs from his waist before righting his trousers.  He glances at her and where she would have expected to see embarrassment for his conduct, he looks decidedly satisfied.  And exhausted.  It’s interesting to see the places this world is wearing down Captain America.  Not that Peggy has any complaints.  She just wishes Steve could lighten up without also losing faith in humanity.

 

He reaches for his shirt, shrugging into it as Peggy makes a detour to her private bathroom.  Several minutes later, as restored as possible, she returns to her office.  Steve is slouched in her desk chair, tugging at his forelock.  She goes to the credenza and finishes pouring her drink before crossing the room to where he is.

 

“The weapons cache we found literally had Stark Industries written all over it,” he says dourly.  He reaches out for the tumbler and Peggy hands it to him, watching as he takes a gulp, frowning as he swallows.  He hands it back to her.

 

“I know,” she replies evenly, walking around him and taking a seat on her desk.  She looks at him as she takes a drink.  “I read the report.”

 

He’s still frowning, but he reaches out and urges her to put her feet in his lap, which she does.  He rubs her feet through the stockings and she groans in appreciation.  “You’re working late,” he says.

 

“Yes, well, the last few minutes weren’t exactly on the clock,” she says dryly, finishing the drink.

 

He gives her a sour look, but releases her feet saying, “C’mere.”

 

She feels ridiculous, but obliges, sinking down into his lap, letting him wrap his arms around her and pull her close.  He rests his cheek against her breast and toys with the ruined edge of her blouse.  “Sorry about that.”

 

She shrugs.  “It needed to be replaced anyway.  It’s decidedly out of fashion.”

 

He looks up at her and she wonders if he’s going to clarify, say he was sorry for his conduct, rather than the ruined blouse.  But he doesn’t.  He sighs and squeezes her before relaxing back in the chair.  “You ready to go home?”

 

“Yes,” she says emphatically.  She stands up before he can do something ridiculous like trying to pick her up.  Her ankle is long healed and she’s not the only one in the building working late.  It’s one thing for SHIELD employees to suspect there is something going on between the Director and Captain America.  It’s quite another to see it in the flesh.  And Peggy has no interest in giving anyone a show.

 

She knows his bike is here somewhere, but he takes the keys she offers him and insists on opening the door for her.  Traffic is light this time of night and he doesn’t bother turning on the radio.  Peggy scoots across the bench seat, so he can drape his arm around her shoulders as he drives.  Her hand rests idly on his thigh.  It’s normal, comfortable, the instinctive contact that they don’t even have to think about anymore.

 

She rests her head against his shoulder, looking out at the darkened landscape.  “How sick is he?” Peggy asks.

 

Steve sighs and shakes his head, cursing under his breath.  “I told Sarah to talk to you.  I think sometimes your kids think you’re a hundred years old.  And blind.”

 

Peggy snorts, but can’t argue with his assessment.  It would be nice if her children could occasionally acknowledge the fact that she is the head of an intelligence agency.  She takes a deep breath.  “You didn’t answer my question.”

 

“It’s bad,” he says quietly.  “I haven’t actually talked to Dave.  He doesn’t want to talk to me.  But I saw Laurie and Heather last week.”

 

“Are they worried about Heather?” Peggy asks, her heart clenching in fear at the thought of her only grandchild being sick.

 

Steve shakes his head.  “No, Dave was exposed after Laurie got pregnant.”

 

“Agent Orange?” Peggy asks.

 

Steve nods.  “It’s some nasty stuff.”

 

“Are they going to do surgery?”

 

Shaking his head, Steve says, “It’s leukemia.  He started chemo last week.”

 

Peggy is silent, wiping impatiently at the tears tracking down her cheek.  All she can think of is how she used to spend what felt like hours rocking David to sleep at night when he was a child.  He hated to fall asleep.  He would try everything to stay awake.  And he refused to allow Daniel to comfort him.  It had to be her.

 

Steve tightens his arm around her shoulders.  “He’s trying to protect you,” he says gently.  “I don’t think he feels like there’s much he can do at this point to protect the people he loves.”

 

“I'm sorry they stuck you in the middle of this,” she says quietly.  “I know how much you hate secrets.”

 

He shrugs.  “Ya know, it’s the first time in a while that I’ve felt like your kids might actually see me as family.”

 

“Oh, you should know by now that seething hostility and bitter resentment is how the Carter family expresses affection.”

 

He looks over at her, frowning.  “Speaking of family.”

 

“Oh, Jesus, Steve,” she says, “not now.”

 

“Look,” he says, “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but this whole situation with David really brought it all up again for me.”

 

“Can we please do this later,” she says, nearly pleading.

 

“What if it was you who was sick, Peg?” he presses.  “Look, we’re together.  And everyone knows we’re together.  We’re the worst kept secret in Washington, I get it.  But we’re not married.  I’m not your next of kin.  If something happened and your kids decided they didn’t want me there, I have no legal recourse.”

 

She notices he doesn’t say he has  _ no recourse _ .  Because she knows Steve Rogers well enough to know that if the depressing situation he’s describing happened, there is literally nothing that could keep him away, legal or otherwise.  And he doesn’t bring up the reverse situation because, unfair though it is, she is actually his legal next of kin, given that he has no biological family.

 

“If you’re trying to appeal to my romantic nature, you’re failing spectacularly,” she says.

 

He looks over at her.  “Do you want romance?” he asks.  “I gave up trying to be romantic, since it never went anywhere.  I’m trying to appeal to your practicality.”

 

“Fine,” she says.

 

“Fine what?”

 

“Fine, I’ll marry you.”

 

He’s silent for several long moments before he says.  “Okay.  Good.”

 

* * *

 

Peggy is sitting at the vanity in her bedroom, wrapped in a robe, wet hair coiled on top of her head.  She has an appointment with her hairdresser first thing tomorrow.  Imelda can sort out what will no doubt be a rat’s nest by morning.  Peggy watches in the mirror as Steve exits the bathroom.  He showered and shaved and he sprawls out across the bed without a stitch.  

 

He’s been quiet, since their conversation in the car.  Peggy’s not sure what to think.  She agreed to marry him.  He’s been pressing her on the issue for literally years.  She knows he was right about them being the worst kept secret in Washington.  But even with their relationship being one of the more persistent rumors, she knows it’s just that, a rumor.  She knows that when they make it official, there will be a number of people who are legitimately shocked.  She’s not sure if she cares.

 

Peggy puts the bottle of nail polish back in its place and stands up.  She walks over to the closet and hangs up her robe before nudging Steve out of the way so she can slide beneath the covers.  As she does, he’s already moving.  He turns out the light and pulls her close as he pushes away the covers she just sorted.

 

She makes an irritated noise.  “My nails are wet.”

 

“I’ll be careful,” he assures her.  She can hear the impertinent smirk in his voice.  He won’t be careful.  He never is.  They both know it.  She’ll have to repaint her nails.

 

He kisses her, a slow, smoldering kiss that has her pressing closer to him, mindless of the fresh lacquer.   “I missed you,” he says, nipping at her earlobe, kissing down her neck.  She does not doubt him for a moment.  As much as it pains her, she knows she is one of Steve’s few friends.  And she has been his closest confidant for years.  

 

He pushes her nightgown up and pulls it over her head before kissing his way down her body.  He hooks his thumbs under her panties, sliding them down her legs and then he’s there, licking and kissing. She twines her fingers through his still-damp hair, pushing her hips up against him.  

 

As much as he missed her, she missed him as well.

 

END SECTION


	8. OiM 2/5 - The Story of Steve and the State Dinner - Aug. 1977

**Objects in Mirror - Chapter 2**

**The Story of Steve and the State Dinner**

**August 1977**

 

David mutters in irritation when Peggy walks into his den.  “I told Laurie he couldn’t keep his mouth shut,” he snaps.  He’s sitting in his recliner, wearing a ratty old pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.  He looks pale, far too pale for his coloring and there is a veritable cornucopia of prescription pill bottles on the TV tray next to him.

 

“Steve didn’t tell me about the cancer,” Peggy says evenly.  “Sarah did.”  It’s somewhat true.  Peggy did call Sarah earlier and wheedle the truth out of her, mostly to lend more credence to the story that Steve hadn’t told her first.  Regardless, Peggy’s a better liar than Steve and her kids combined.  She’s not worried about being caught.

 

Crossing the room, Peggy stands next to the recliner where David’s sitting.  He has hair like his father, thick and curling and it’s sticking up in unruly tufts.  She wonders how long it will be before it starts falling out.  Smoothing his hair back from his forehead, she rests her hand against the side of his face.  He covers her hand with his own and she leans down, hugging him tightly, trying not to cry.

 

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he says quietly, hugging her back.

 

Peggy nods, straightening up and taking a seat nearby on the sofa.  She dabs at her eyes with a tissue.  “What can I do to help?”

 

“Nothing, Mom,” he says, “the doctors are already doing everything they can.”

 

Peggy doesn’t push.  Laurie’s father is a well respected oncologist, head of the department.  Peggy assumes he’s already doing everything he can to assist.  Instead, they talk about Heather and her preschool.  They talk about Sarah’s girlfriend and how David thinks she’s a leech. Peggy’s not particularly fond of Olivia either, but she doesn’t think deriding her is going to help anything.

 

“I saw in the paper where Steve’s getting a commondation,” David says carefully.

 

Peggy nods.  “Yes, there’s a dinner next week.  He’s the guest of honor.”

 

“He excited?”

 

Peggy snorts.  “You’re joking right?  They’re sending a car to pick him up, in the hopes that he’ll actually show up.”

 

David shakes his head, frowning.  “I don’t ... understand him.”

 

“I know,” Peggy says.

 

Still frowning, David looks at her.  “What do you two have in common?”

 

“A deep seeded love for government cheese and mass market paperbacks.”

 

“You’re hilarious,” David says dryly.

 

“So I’m told,” Peggy replies.

 

David shakes his head.  “He’s ... not like Dad.”

 

Peggy raises her eyebrows.  “I beg to differ,” she says gently.  “In many ways, they’re very much alike.  They’re both good men, with good hearts, who want to make the world a better place and who aren’t afraid to sacrifice to make that happen.”  

 

She sighs.  “But they are different.  Steve’s ... quiet.  Hard to get to know.  He deflects a lot.  He doesn’t like bureaucracy or bullies.  He’s an abysmal spy.”  She chuckles.  “Your father was much better at lying.”

 

“He’s a mooch,” David says flatly, ignoring Peggy’s attempt at levity.

 

Her brow furrows.  “How so?”

 

“How long has he lived with you?” David demands, shaking his head.  “You’re too old to have a boyfriend, Mom.”

 

“Oh, well, thank you, David,” she says dryly.  She frowns at him.  “Are you under the impression that Steve’s the one who is reluctant to make our relationship official?”

 

He blinks at her.  “Well ... yeah.”

 

Peggy laughs and rolls her eyes.  “You would be hard pressed to find somebody more traditional than Steve Rogers,” she says dryly.  “ _ I’m _ the one who’s refused to take the next step.  Not him.”

 

David looks somewhat more pale than he did a moment ago.

 

“And to put your mind at ease,” she says, “I’ve finally agreed to marry him.”

 

David seems at a loss.  “Okay.  Good.  I guess.”

 

* * *

 

In the car on the way to the dinner, Peggy looks at the ring.  It’s a fine ring.  Simple, classic.  Traditional.  A single, modest, high quality stone.  She knows it cost more than Steve could afford and she wonders how long he made payments on it.  Captain America isn’t exactly rolling in money.  Peggy would feel worse about that if she wasn’t personally covering almost all of his expenses.  Given that she is, she hardly saw the need to give him a raise.  She wonders if she should re-evaluate that.  She hasn’t intended to keep him dependent on her.

 

There are the usual parade of faces at the dinner.  Peggy dutifully stands in line next to her fiance, ring firmly in place.   _ Fiance _ .  She despises that word.  It’s a term to be used by twenty year old girls with pink cheeks and endless illusions.  She feels ridiculous thinking it in regards to Steve.  As if she doesn’t have better things to do with her time than plan a wedding.

 

Nobody asks about the ring, which Peggy knows is either good, or bad, she’s just not sure which.  As soon as they’re done with the damn receiving line, she makes a beeline for the bar.  She’s standing there, halfway through a gin and tonic, when Howard sidles up, chuckling.

 

“Stuff it, Howard,” Peggy snaps.

 

“Oh, come on, Peg,” he says lightly.  “Rogers is finally making an honest woman out of you.  It’s adorable.  You guys pick out a china pattern yet?”

 

She glares at him until he stops laughing.

 

“Carson’s going to be crushed,” he says conversationally.  “I’m pretty sure he thinks you spurned his advances because he was too young.”

 

“I spurned his advances because he’s an idiot,” Peggy replies.  “And Carson’s hardly going to be shocked that Steve and I are together.”

 

Howard arches an eyebrow at her.  “In this town, people in positions of power do all sorts of things behind closed doors.  It’s a whole different ballgame when you show up at a black tie event with a ring on your finger.”

 

Peggy frowns.  “So everyone looks the other way if I’m using him for sex, but the second it becomes official, it’s grist for the gossip mill?”

 

“Pretty much,” Howard says, shrugging.  “Not that it wasn’t grist before.  It’s just a different kind of grist now.  Official grist.  There will be plenty of strategy meetings.”

 

Peggy arches an eyebrow at him.

 

Howard shrugs again.  “The Director of SHIELD is officially shackling herself to the world’s only honest to God superhero.  Don’t be naive.  Of course there will be meetings.”

 

“That’s absurd,” Peggy says, taking another drink, though she really isn’t shocked.

 

Howard tips the bartender for his Scotch and soda and leans against the bar, looking over at her.  “You and Steve are both hard to get to know, Peg,” he says.  “There are rumors.  And you’ve been his boss for a while, but I doubt many people thought the relationship was marriage material.”

 

“Indeed,” she says sourly, “who would think such a thing.”

 

He frowns at her.  “Look, for anybody who knows Steve, the only shocking part is that it’s taken this long for him to wear you down.  But,” he takes a drink, “not many people know him.  From the outside, you two look like a couple of hedgehogs.”

 

“Oh, Howard,” she says, “do stop trying to appeal to my vanity.”

 

He lets out a bark of laughter and nods, leaning over and kissing her on the cheek.  “Congrats, Peg,” he says seriously.  “You both deserve some happiness.”  He pauses, looking at her.  “Especially now.”

 

Peggy frowns into her gin and tonic.  “You’ve heard about David?”

 

“Yeah,” Howard says quietly.  “Hell of a thing.”

 

Peggy finishes her drink and is setting the glass on the bar when Steve appears at her side, his hand immediately going to the small of her back in a move that is as possessive as it is protective.  She hates that it makes her smile.

 

Howard tips his glass to Steve, and Steve nods in return.  “Howard.”

 

“I was just congratulating Peggy on your impending nuptials,” Howard says with a smile.

 

“Yeah,” Steve says, nodding and smiling, looking pleased.

 

“Stimulating as this conversation is,” Peggy says dryly, “I think we’ve stayed long enough.”

 

“Eager to get home, Peg?” Howard asks with badly feigned innocence.

 

Steve escorts Peggy toward the door before she can respond.

 

* * *

 

In the car on the way back to the house, Steve threads his fingers through Peggy’s, but his attention is elsewhere as he stares out the window.

 

“Do you like your job?” Peggy asks.

 

Steve looks at her frowning.  “I don’t understand.”

 

“It’s not a trick question, Steve,” she says.  “Do you like your job?  Ops?”

 

He takes a deep breath and seems to consider it, but ends up simply shrugging.  “It’s necessary.”

 

“That’s not really an answer.”

 

“And yet,” he says, looking away, “it’s still the best one I’ve got, Director.”

 

She takes a deep breath, giving herself time to reply without snapping.  “I was wondering if you might consider a change, something more,” she shrugs.  “I don’t know.  Diplomatic perhaps.  Or even something in the private sector.  Maybe something with Howard.”

 

Steve looks over at her, narrowing his eyes.  He must come to some conclusion because his features soften.  “You don’t like me being in the field.”

 

She frowns, looking away.  “I wouldn’t phrase it in quite such a maudlin way.”

 

“Still true,” he replies.

 

She takes a deep breath, watching the lights out the window.  “Yes,” she admits quietly.

 

His hand tightens around hers, but they don’t discuss it any further in the car.  Inside the house, Steve ushers her up to the bedroom, making his intentions very clear.

 

END CHAPTER


	9. 0iM 3/5 - The Story of Steve’s Laundry - Sept. 1977

**Objects in Mirror - Chapter 3**

**The Story of Steve’s Laundry**

**September 1977**

 

“It’s hardly even a scratch,” Steve says, clearly frustrated.

 

Peggy looks at him, frowning.  The medical staff pretend to be terribly engrossed in their tasks.  These scenes are uncommon, but not unheard of.  And while the medical staff never really wanted front row seats to see Director Carter going toe to toe with Captain Rogers, they’re even less interested now that the engagement is public knowledge.  This official exchange has somehow become a lover’s spat.  Peggy hates this fact so much.

 

“How bad was it when they packed you onto that chopper?” Peggy snaps.  “I saw the uniform, Captain.”  And she knows, the flesh beneath it was far more vulnerable.

 

Steve frowns, but holds his tongue.

 

The doctor stands there awkwardly, looking between Peggy and Steve.

 

“Yes?” Peggy snaps at him.

 

“Captain Rogers is good to go,” the doctor says.

 

Steve raises his eyebrows in challenge.  Peggy turns on her heel and leaves.

 

* * *

 

The lights are on when Peggy gets home and from the front door, she can hear the sound of the ballgame on the television in the den.  Peggy doesn’t bother seeking him out, she turns and heads up the stairs.

 

She is in bed reading by the time he finally comes into the room.  It’s clear he’s already showered - to wash the blood off, no doubt.  He’s wearing an old t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, both of which he pulls off and tosses into the corner of the closet, though she’s asked him not to do that dozens of times.  She watches him, her lips pursed in a frown.  The wound down his left side looks like little more than road rash at this point, but she knows how grievous it was.  

 

He climbs into bed and looks over at her.  “You going to talk to me?”

 

She concentrates on her book, still frowning.  “What do you want to talk about?”

 

He sighs, and she hates him in that moment.  Because it makes her feel  _ old _ .  Like she’s being ridiculous for being upset that he was nearly killed earlier in the day.  He’s still so damn young.  He thinks he’s invulnerable, despite ample evidence to the contrary.

 

Steve reaches out, running the back of his hand over her sheet-covered thigh and she lowers the book, glaring at him.  “You have got to be joking.”

 

He looks at her, guileless and a little hurt.  “What?”

 

Sighing, she rolls over and sets the book on the nightstand before turning off the light.  She knows he’s lying there on his side, staring at her, probably with a wounded expression.  She tries not to care.

 

Eventually he climbs under the covers, head pillowed on his arms as he stares up at the ceiling.  “I’m not David,” he says carefully.

 

She sits up in bed and turns on the light, rounding on him.  “I bloody well know you’re not David!”

 

He watches her warily, but doesn’t move.  “In two years you haven’t had a problem with my job.”

 

“In two years, I haven’t  _ told _ you I have a problem with your job,” she clarifies, enunciating carefully.  “Because I didn’t feel like I had a right to have a problem with your job.  As the Director of SHIELD, I understand how invaluable your skillset is in making the world a safer place.  But now that we’re to be married, I have a bit more at stake personally.”

 

“I know you’re worried,” he says gently, his manner placating, pampering the madwoman.

 

She wants to punch him.  She settles for evisceration.  “I’ve already buried you once, Captain,” she says tartly.  “Have you thought about that?  I suppose at least this time I’ll have the dubious honor of being your widow.  I already have one flag.  Now I guess it will be a matched set.”

 

He looks stunned and she wants to feel bad, but she doesn’t.  She turns the light off again and rolls away, giving him her back.

 

* * *

 

He’s already gone by the time she gets out of bed in the morning and she wonders if he slept at all.  She expects to find him in the kitchen, or the garage, but he’s gone and his bike with him.  She doesn’t dwell on it.  She has a full day ahead of her.

 

The mission briefing is waiting on her desk when she gets in, along with her coffee.  She forces herself to read it, mostly because she wouldn’t hesitate if it were anyone other than Steve.  But it’s awful.  Worse than she expected, and she didn’t think she was prone to lying to herself.  If he had been the tiniest bit less resilient than he is, he would have come home in a body bag.

 

But he saved a half dozen other men.  Men, who undoubtedly would have died had he not been there.  Men with families and futures.  She wonders if the trade off is worth it.  Steve has abilities that no one else possesses.  But does that obligate him to use them day in and day out, always prioritizing other people’s needs above his own - and by extension, above her needs as well?

 

As much as she raged at Steve for it, she knows that David’s illness has colored her reactions.  Six months ago, she would have been upset, but not like this.  And it’s not because of the engagement.  David’s illness is a reminder of how fragile life is.  And how painful it was to her the last time she lost Steve.  As she told him, she’s already buried him once.  Just as she buried Daniel.  

 

Peggy Carter is very tired of burying the people she loves.

 

She appreciates the perversity of pushing Steve away to avoid the pain of losing him.  She looks at the ring on her finger and wonders where he is.  And how she can apologize without actually having to apologize.

 

* * *

 

It’s late when the front door closes.  She hears him toss his keys down on the hall table and hang his jacket in the closet.  He’s on his best behavior.  He never hangs up that jacket, regardless of how many times she’s asked.  

 

Peggy is curled up on the corner of the sectional, feet tucked under her, glass of wine in one hand, book in the other.  The only light on in the house is the lamp in the corner, so she knows he won’t have trouble finding her.

 

Steve is looking down at his hands when he walks into the room, his lips pursed in a frown.  He looks up at the same time he opens his mouth and she knows he’s been practicing what he’s going to say.  But he stops short, mouth hanging open.

 

He is such a terribly visual creature.  She wonders if she should feel bad for taking advantage of that.  She’s draped in a crimson silk robe, a gift from Steve the previous Christmas.  It’s not belted and she knows he can see the edges of the garter, the stockings and the bra.  There is no mistaking the invitation.  She doesn’t lounge around in this outfit.  It has only one context.  And he’s the only person who gets to see it.

 

Whatever he was going to say is forgotten as he crosses the room to her, dropping to his knees next to the couch and kissing her without hesitation.  She sets the wine aside and lets the book fall to the floor, twining her fingers through his hair.  His hands on are her immediately, fingertips skimming over the stockings, toying with the edge of the garter.  As far as she can tell, they will forever fascinate him, a fact she shamelessly exploits.

 

She unbuttons his shirt and he shrugs out of it impatiently, pulling his undershirt over his head and tossing it aside before he returns the favor, skimming the robe down her arms, baring her to his gaze.  At the beginning of their relationship, this would have made her uncomfortable.  Now, she has no hesitations.  If Steve has bothered to notice that she’s significantly older than him, he’s not letting on.  And his reaction to her body is not something that could be faked.  He wants her.  He  _ always _ wants her.  Between his latest disaster of a mission and their fight, it’s been several weeks since they made love.  She knows he’s more than ready.

 

She pushes at his chest, urging him back so she can reposition herself on the couch.  She slouches down, so her hips are at the edge of the cushion, and spreads her legs wide, watching him.  He looks at her, swallowing thickly, his hands skimming over her stockings.  With a smile, she reaches out, hooking her finger through his belt loop, pulling him in as close as he can get.  He’s hard already, she can feel him through his trousers and he grinds against her before dipping down and kissing her.  He nips gently at her lips, a lovely counterpoint to the way his hands roam urgently over her thighs.

 

She kisses along his jaw to his earlobe, catching it between her teeth.  “Lose the trousers and shorts,” she says.

 

“Yes, ma’am,” he growls, quickly shoving the material down and kicking it, and his shoes, away.

 

Now bare, she pulls him close, urging him to press against her as she kisses him hard.  His hands play over the black silk covering her breasts but he doesn’t try to remove her bra.  Gravity is not her friend these days and like this, sitting up, with all the lights on, he knows that the bra stays on.  His fingers skim down her sides, around and he’s cupping her ass again, pulling her closer to the edge of the couch.  He hooks his fingertips under the edge of her panties and starts to inch them down.  The panties are on over the garter belt and stockings, so they can be removed without removing everything - or ripping anything.  She shifts obligingly so he can skim the material down her legs and then his fingers are there, parting, rubbing. 

 

“Peggy,” he says, and it’s almost a whine.

 

She kisses him again, taking him in hand and slowly urging him closer until he’s pushing into her.  His head snaps back and she admires the taut sinew in his neck.  He is so delightfully physical.  

 

His hands are still there, skirting the edge of her stockings as he rocks into her.  She uses her fingertips at his hips to guide him, urging him to keep his movements slow, savoring the feel of him moving inside her.  There is perspiration beaded across his upper lip and chest.  Not from exertion, but from the effort of going slow.  She loves how powerful it makes her feel to have such a man at her disposal, so willing to give over to her wants and needs.  Not that he won’t get his reward in the end.  But she does so enjoy when he plays along.

 

She takes his hand, guides it to where they are joined and he touches her exactly the way she wants, exactly the way he knows will bring her pleasure.  As her breath starts coming shorter, he picks up the pace, driving into her in sharp thrusts that send thrills of delight coursing through her body.  She feels it start and she doesn’t fight it, her fingernails biting into his skin, moaning loudly as she comes.  He wastes no time, driving into her, finding his own release.

 

Long minutes later, they’re lounging together on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, Peggy lying mostly on his chest.  He holds her hand, toying with her ring.

 

“Guess you’re still planning on marrying me,” he says.

 

“So it would seem,” she replies.

 

He kisses her forehead.  “I talked to Howard today,” he says.  “About a job.”

 

She looks up at him.  “And?”

 

He shrugs, frowning.  “Oh, he can find me something.  I’m afraid he’ll try to truss me up like a dancing monkey again.  And I’m not excited at the idea of being a walking, talking advertisement for Stark weapons systems.”

 

Peggy nods.  She was afraid of as much.  “I have no desire to see you whoring for Howard, so don’t take a job with him on my account.”  She sighs.  “You’re considering leaving SHIELD, then?”

 

“Considering,” he says, looking down at her.  “Is that still what you want?”

 

She’s quiet for a moment.  “I want you out of the field,” she says honestly.  “That doesn’t mean that I want you to leave the organization entirely, but I understand if you would be uncomfortable in a different role.”  She looks at him.  “Do you want to leave?”

 

He frowns.  “I don’t know what I want, aside from being with you.”  He toys with the ring again.  “I’m not sure what else I’m good at.”

 

She pushes herself up and stands next to the couch, holding out a hand to him.  “You’re a man of many talents.  I’m sure we can find something,” she says, before leading him upstairs.

 

* * *

 

Peggy looks up, wincing as Steve walks through the doors and into the VA Hospital’s waiting room, splattered with some kind of liquid.  She makes sure Heather is okay and crosses the room to him, digging in her purse for a handkerchief.  She dabs at his face.

 

“It’s fine,” he says, taking the handkerchief.  “I’m pretty sure it’s just coffee.”

 

“Was it hot?” she asks, appalled.

 

“Not by the time it hit me, no.”  He swipes at his shirt. It is going to be a loss, probably.  “Luckily it wasn’t still in a thermos.”

 

Taking Peggy’s elbow, he guides her back to where David and Heather are sitting.  Peggy resumes her seat and Steve sits on the other side of her, farthest from David, though he nods to him in greeting.  Peggy knows that neither Steve, nor David, are excited that Steve is here.  But when Peggy agreed to take David to his appointment at the VA Hospital, she hadn’t realized just how weak he was.  She was concerned that if he fell or needed assistance, that she wouldn’t be able to manage by herself, especially with a toddler in tow.  So she called Steve from the hospital and he met them there.  She hates the idea that Laurie apparently does this regularly all by herself.

 

“Guess the vets out front must not like you,” David comments to Steve, not bothering to take his eyes off his magazine.

 

“Apparently not,” Steve says, frowning.

 

For as low of a profile as Steve attempts to keep, he is still recognizable as a symbol of American patriotism.  And American patriotism is decidedly out of fashion, especially with the Vietnam War vets who are outside.  They are protesting their treatment by the government, specifically in relation to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder they suffered as a result of combat.  Peggy appreciates what they are doing.  Personally, she wonders if David is affected.  He served in Vietnam prior to his job with the CIA.  But as much as she sympathizes, she still takes umbrage with them throwing coffee at Steve.

 

Once the nurse finally calls David back, the visit progress fairly quickly.  Peggy goes with him, leaving Heather with Steve in the waiting room.  The nurses draw copious vials of blood and then they send him to radiology for a spinal tap, which Peggy cannot watch.  Afterward, they speak with the doctor.  As far as Peggy can tell, things are progressing as expected and they seem cautiously optimistic.  David lost weight, but that is typical and he hasn’t lost enough for them to consider hospitalization.  They give him a new prescription for nausea medication.

 

By the time they make their way back to the waiting room, Steve is pacing around with Heather asleep in his arms.  Peggy tuts, taking the baby from him and cuddling her close.

 

David is moving slowly, but he shrugs off any offers of help.  She and Steve keep pace with David as he walks out the doors and toward the parking lot.  The protesters are still out there and they hurl a few insults at Steve, who doesn’t react.  A group of four of the vets start toward them.

 

“Fellas,” Steve says blandly.

 

Peggy is distracted, digging through her purse and trying to hold a sleeping toddler at the same time.  “I think we forgot your prescription,” she says to David.

 

David checks his pockets and shakes his head.

 

“I’ll go back and get it,” Peggy says, but her eyes go from the protesters back to David and Steve.

 

“Go ahead,” Steve says.  “We’re fine.”

 

Frowning, Peggy turns and hurries back inside.  It takes the nurse several minutes to locate the prescription, but she has it and heads back to meet Steve and David.

 

Things have escalated by the time she returns.  The protesters are leaving David alone, but one of them, a huge bearded bear of a man is bellowing in Steve’s face, poking him in the chest.  Steve, for his part, is doing his level best not to react.  As she gets closer, she can hear the things the guy is saying and they are awful, several of them about her specifically.  Apparently one of them halfway recognizes her from some other function they were protesting.  Though they think her name is Kotter, and that she’s with the VA Administration.  The big guy looks unwell, sweaty, eyes unable to focus on anything for long.

 

Steve turns and sees her, looking relieved.  But as he turns, the big guy throws a sucker punch that catches Steve right across the cheekbone.  He stumbles back a step, grimacing, but doesn’t raise his fists.  He looks at the guy, clearly irritated.  “If you don’t mind, fellas, we’ll be on our way.”

 

David holds out his hand, motioning for Peggy to step past the protesters.  She clutches Heather tighter to her chest as she goes.  But as she steps past, the big guy lunges for her, shoving past David.

 

Peggy has no idea what the guy intends to do, but he never touches her.  Steve moves so fast she can’t follow the motion.  He has the guy on his knees, arm twisted high behind his back, in the blink of an eye.  

 

“I’ll dance with you all day, fellas, but you don’t get to touch them,” he says darkly.

 

David watches it all with wide eyes, his grip firm on Peggy’s arm.

 

“We done here?” Steve asks the guys.  Reasonably sure they’re going to behave, he releases the big guy and then escorts Peggy to the car.

 

END CHAPTER


	10. OiM 4/5 - The Story of Steve and the Honey-Do List - Sept. 1977

**Objects in Mirror - Chapter 4**

**The Story of Steve and the Honey-Do List**

**August-September 1977**

  


Once at the car, sure they aren’t being followed, they part company.  Steve takes his bike back to the office and Peggy drives David and Heather home.  In the car, David is quiet and Peggy is concerned that he’s done too much.

 

“Are you feeling terribly unwell?” she asks, reaching over and feeling his forehead quickly before pulling her hand away.  He doesn’t feel warm.

 

“No,” he says, looking exasperated and bemused, “I was just thinking.”

 

Not sure she should go, there, Peggy decides to risk it and asks, “Thinking about what?”

 

David takes a deep breath.  “Steve’s fast.”

 

“Yes,” Peggy says carefully.

 

“And strong.”

 

Peggy nods.  “He is Captain America, dear.  Chivalry may be dead, but you didn’t think he was going to let someone shove me around while I was holding the baby, did you?”

 

He shrugs.  “I guess I never really thought about it.”

 

Peggy understands, sort of.  David knows about Captain America, probably more than most people.  But he also knows Steve, his mother’s much younger companion.  And she understands how, in David’s mind, those two people don’t necessarily overlap anywhere.

 

David looks at her, eyes narrowed.  “How’d you really break your ankle?”

 

Peggy glances at him.  It’s none of his business.  And he doesn’t have clearance.  “That’s top secret.”

 

“Yeah,” he says, seemingly unconcerned.

 

“What did you hear?” she asks.  She’s curious, but also afraid of what she might learn.

 

He arches an eyebrow at her.  “I heard that you were abducted and the standing directive was to not negotiate.”

 

“It’s SHIELD policy,” Peggy says blandly.

 

“It’s _your_ policy,” David counters.

 

She shrugs.

 

“And I heard,” David continues, “that Captain America put together a strike team and extracted you in blatant violation of protocol.  And not a single person at SHIELD tried to stop him.”

 

She looks over at her son. “For the record, I had already managed to get out of my restraints when the strike team showed up.”

 

“Oh,” he says, “so they didn’t save your ass.”

 

She frowns.  “There was one final guard.  But I had him on the ropes when the team arrived.”

 

David’s quiet for a moment and then he asks, “Really?”

 

“No,” Peggy says, shaking her head.  “I’m pretty sure he would have killed me.”

 

“What happened to him?”

 

“Steve threw him against a stone wall hard enough to leave a dent,” she says quietly.  “And then he got me, broken ankle and all, out of there and back home without another scratch.  He didn’t let me out of his sight for days.  And he assigned himself as my security detail for the twelve weeks it took my ankle to heal.”

 

“And you let him?”

 

Peggy shrugs.  “There isn’t much point in arguing with him when he gets like that.”

 

David is quiet and Peggy wonders what he thinks.  She knows that David sees himself as Steve’s elder, despite the fact that Steve is slightly older, not taking the time he spent in stasis into account.  And Peggy understands.  David is married with a child.  He had a military career and moved on to an intelligence job.  He has a house and a pension plan.  By comparison, Steve must seem untethered, her perpetual house guest.  Though Peggy knows nothing could be farther from the truth.

 

“I know Steve ... cares,” David says carefully.  “But I never - “  He stops.

 

“Never what?” Peggy prompts.

 

He looks over at her.  “He’s always so damn quiet and polite,” David says.  “The stuff he did, taking the strike team after you. I guess I thought it was part of the Captain America schtick.”

 

“The dancing monkey,” Peggy says.

 

David frowns.  “What?”

 

“Nothing,” she says.  “So you thought the rescue was part of the job?  Someone else called the shots and he did what he was told out of some blind patriotic agenda.”

 

David shrugs.  “But today.”  He shakes his head.  “I felt like that was the first time I saw him act like he belonged here, like he had a stake in things.”

 

Peggy frowns.  “He is my partner, David,” she says evenly.  “He’s very careful about not overstepping his bounds where you are concerned, but we have a relationship of equals.  I’m going to marry him.”

 

* * *

 

Steve is at home when she arrives later that same evening.  Peggy stayed with David and Heather until Laurie got back from her errands, and then they invited her to stay for dinner.  Laurie raised her eyebrows, but didn’t said anything when David mentioned Steve went to the appointment with them.

 

Steve walks up behind her as she’s pouring herself a glass of white wine in the kitchen and starts rubbing her shoulders.  She groans in relief, pressing back into the pressure.  He leans forward, kissing the side of her neck.  “How’d everything go after I left?”

 

“Okay,” she says wearily.  “I need to talk to Laurie.  She can’t be doing everything by herself.  It’s not safe.  She needs help, regardless of David’s pride.”

 

He’s quiet for several moments and then says, “I’m happy to help.  Any time.  But I don’t want to horn in where I’m not wanted.”

 

“I know,” she says.  She glances over her shoulder at him, giving him a sad smile.  “Actually, I think today was a bit of an eye opener for David.  I think it was good for him.  He realized you have a stake in this family too.”

 

He doesn’t say anything, but he presses a kiss to the back of her head.

 

* * *

 

It’s three weeks later when Laurie calls out of the blue.  Peggy’s in Europe, a diplomatic tour.  Steve had been planning to go as Peggy’s companion, but then there was some static about the fact that he and Peggy aren’t actually married yet, so she informed him he was staying home.  He didn’t mind.  He’s seen enough of Europe to last a lifetime.

 

He’s been taking a lot of vacation time lately, trying to figure out what the hell he wants to do with his life.  So far, he hasn’t figured out much.  The garage looks fantastic, but he can’t exactly make a career out of working his way through the honey-do list.  He’d been planning to tackle the plumbing under the sink in the utility room, but that’s shelved when the phone rings.

 

Laurie explains, in stilted sentences, that her mother is in the hospital, with a suspected heart attack.  Steve races across town and meets her at the door just as she and Heather are leaving.  Laurie looks terrible, pale with red rimmed eyes.  Steve helps her out to the car and gives her a hug, along with a promise to keep an eye on David.  Easier said than done.

 

Cautiously, Steve enters the den.  The TV is blaring and one glance at David in his recliner gives Steve the impression that David must pretty much live in this room.  There are bottles of medication, empty glasses.  The place is a wreck, a far cry from the immaculate presentation he’d seen when Laurie and David hosted last Christmas.  Steve wishes there was more he could do to help.  Laurie needs a break.

 

“I told her I didn’t need a babysitter,” David says.  He looks like shit, significantly worse than he did when Steve saw him several weeks earlier.  He’s shaved his head, but there’s still a few patches of stubble, so it hasn’t fallen out completely.  The lack of hair makes him look smaller, more frail.

 

“Yeah, well,” Steve says, taking a seat on the couch, “maybe it’s not for you.”

 

David looks at him.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“Maybe it’s for Laurie,” he says pointedly.  He motions around the room.  “This place is a disaster.”

 

David opens his mouth to say something and Steve isn’t having it.  He pushes himself to his feet and crosses the room, turning off the TV.  He opens the heavy drapes, letting in sunlight.  David’s squawking, but Steve ignores him.  He goes to the kitchen and grabs the trashcan and takes it back to the den where he starts tossing everything that looks like trash.  Then he gathers up all the dirty dishes and takes them back into the kitchen.  He washes them, setting them in the dish drainer to dry.  By the time he heads back to the den to check on David, he’s gone.  Steve can hear water running and figures he must be taking a shower.  Which is good.  He needed one.  The entire room is ripe.  

 

Steve opens a window.  There’s a breeze and he figures the room can air out a little before the day gets too hot.  He heads back to the kitchen and goes through the fridge, tossing everything that resembles a science experiment more than food.  He finally gathers up all the trash and takes it outside to the can, half hidden in the weeds by the curb.

 

When he gets back, David’s out of the shower.  He’s wearing fresh clothes and looks considerably better.  He’s started a pot of coffee and he pours himself a cup before offering one to Steve.  Steve accepts, taking a seat at the small breakfast table while David stands, leaning against the counter.

 

David’s thin and pale.  Steve wonders how hard it must be for Laurie to see him this way.  According to Peggy, Laurie’s been head over heels for David since they both in the third grade.  David was always a jock, captain of the football team.  It’s Steve and Peggy in reverse.

 

“Anything new on your prognosis?” Steve asks.  He’s already butting into everything, he might as well jump in here too.

 

David takes another drink of coffee and answers without looking at Steve.  “Nothing good,” David says.  “They give me maybe eighteen months at this rate.”  He looks over at Steve.  “They want to try an experimental procedure.”

 

Steve sits there, staring at his coffee.  “Are you going to do it?”

 

David frowns.  “No.  I don’t want to be a damn lab rat.”

 

“Convenient,” Steve says.

 

“What?”

 

“Laurie can buy a black dress to wear to her mother’s funeral and then wear it to yours as well.  Very economical.”

 

David gives him a withering glare.  “What would you know - “

 

“I know a lot about being a lab rat,” Steve says evenly, cutting him off.  “I know exactly what it means to stow my personal shit and do what needs to be done because people are depending on me.”  He sighs, taking a breath.  “And I also know what it’s like to die,” he says quietly.  “To have the woman I love move on, create a new life with a new guy.”  He looks pointedly at David.  “I don’t recommend it.  In case you were wondering.”

 

David looks at him, but he doesn’t say anything.  He looks away, taking another drink.  Steve finishes his coffee in three long swallows and pushes himself to his feet.  He walks down the hall, pushing the accordion doors back and studying the controls on the washer.  He starts it filling, adding the soap and then goes searching for the hampers.  He drags them out in the hallway and and starts sorting through clothes, throwing all of the whites into the washer.

 

“Laurie’s going to lose her mind if you break her washer,” David says from the end of the hall, where he’s leaning against the wall, watching with obvious fascination.  Steve wonders how long it’s been since anybody rattled his cage.

 

“For what it’s worth,” Steve snaps, “I can manage this.  I do all the laundry.”  It’s not precisely true.  A lot of Peggy’s clothes are dry clean only.  But Steve is familiar with how a washer and drier function.  He closes the lid on the washer.  It’s probably going to take forty-five minutes for the cycle to complete.  He looks at David, really in no mood to spend any more time with him.  Steve has said his piece.  David can do with it what he will.  Steve figures he’ll most likely ignore it all, which is fine.  It’s David’s life.  But Laurie’s along for the ride and Steve knows she needs help.

 

Steve walks past David and heads for the back door.

 

“Where are you going now?” David asks, curious, rather than concerned.  

 

David sounds amused, which Steve suspects is preferable to him being angry.  The last thing they need is more drama.  But it does sort of make Steve want to punch him in the face, regardless of the fact that he’s sick.  “To mow your fucking lawn,” Steve snaps.

 

First off, Steve has to break into the garage, because he doesn’t want to ask David for the key.  Inside, Steve finds several crates of things that belonged to Daniel.  Steve noticed they’d disappeared from Peggy’s closet in the last year, but he never asked her what she did with them.  Now he knows.  She gave them to David.

 

After some searching, Steve finds the mower, and then the gas can.  It’s empty.  So he heads to the service station down the block.  He gets back and the mower finally starts.  Even with his enhanced strength, it’s a shit job.  It’s obviously been months since the lawn was last mowed and some of the weeds are several feet tall.  Steve is determined, though, and he finally finishes up.  He puts the mower back in the garage and heads inside.

 

Steve washes up and then checks on the laundry, only to discover that the whites are in the drier and David must have started a new load.  The manual is sitting on top of the washer, so Steve suspects this is the first time David’s ever done anything like this.  Somewhat mollified, Steve goes back to the kitchen and gets a glass of water.  He takes it into the den, sitting down on the couch, glancing at the baseball game on the TV.  The room smells better.  The breeze filtering in is cool and smells like fresh cut grass, which is an improvement on Eau de David.

 

They sit in silence for several long minutes.

 

“My dad never did laundry,” David finally says.

 

This information doesn’t shock Steve.  Though he knows Peggy probably didn’t do it either.  Most likely, the housekeeper did it.  But Steve values his privacy too much, so the housekeeper’s hours have been cut back dramatically.  And now Steve has to do the laundry if he wants clean clothes.  Cost of doing business.  “It needs to be done,” Steve replies evenly, “so I do it.”

 

David glances over at him, frowning.  He shakes his head, looking back at the game.  Several more minutes pass before David says, “He died from cancer.”

 

Steve looks over at him.  “Daniel?”

 

David nods, taking another drink of coffee without taking his eyes off the TV.  “Pancreatic.  Late stage.  Once he was diagnosed, it was only a couple of weeks.”

 

Steve frowns.  “I didn’t realize that.”  He figured it had been a heart attack.  He knew that it was sudden and he’d never wanted to delve too far into it with Peggy.

 

They don’t speak again for a long time.  Eventually Steve gets up and throws in another load of laundry, then heads to the grocery store to pick up some basic provisions.  He makes sandwiches for him and David.  From the queasy look David gets as he eats, Steve doubts he’s very hungry.  But David has apparently decided he isn’t going to be shown up by Steve any more and he finishes the sandwich.

 

The laundry is all clean - though not folded, there are limits to Steve’s domesticity - by the time Steve sees Laurie’s car pull up.  He’s about ready to get up to go meet her when David gets to his feet.  Steve stays where he is.  The house is cool.  They finally had to shut the windows and turn on the A/C.

 

Steve is sitting there when Heather bounds into the room and throws herself at him.  Steve picks her up and gives her a hug.  He joins her on the floor and they play for several minutes.  Steve can hear David and Laurie talking quietly in the kitchen.  Apparently her mother is okay and will probably be released tomorrow.  Laurie’s clearly shocked about the state of the house.  David reluctantly admits that Steve did most of it, but he’s sure to mention the load of laundry he did.  

 

Steve can hear Laurie crying and David comforting her.  

 

Steve waits a couple of minutes and then picks Heather up, heading to the kitchen.  He’s sure to step heavily and by the time he enters the room, everyone is composed.  He makes his excuses and heads for the door.  Laurie follows him out.  She doesn’t say anything, but she hugs him tightly.  He hugs her back.  “Take care.  Call if you need anything.”

 

* * *

 

Peggy is unpacking when Steve lays down on the bed, right in the middle of what she’s doing, like some overgrown housecat.  She looks at him, narrowing her eyes.  “David apparently agreed to an experimental bone marrow transplant procedure,” she says.

 

“Really?” Steve says, seeming legitimately shocked.

 

She looks at him speculatively.  “What did you do over there while I was gone?”

 

Steve shrugs.  “I mowed his fucking lawn.”

 

END CHAPTER


	11. OiM 5/5 - The Story of Steve, Peggy and the Contents of Peggy’s Handbag - Sept. 1977-Feb. 1978

**Objects in Mirror - Chapter 5**

**The Story of Steve, Peggy and the Contents of Peggy’s Handbag**

**Late September 1977**

 

Steve presses his hand gently against the small of Peggy’s back.  Her left eye is twitching and he wonders if she’ll actually throttle the nurse.  The nurse shakes her head again, referring to a binder of papers.  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” she says, sounding anything but apologetic.  “But the rules are clear.  Only family are allowed.”

 

Peggy opens her mouth and Steve gently takes her aside.  She turns to him with a murderous look on her face.  “This is absolutely unacceptable.”

 

Steve considers pointing out that if she’d married him two years ago, it wouldn’t be an issue.  But he doesn’t.  Because he doesn’t feel like being punched in the face.  “It’ll be fine,” he says calmly.  “I’ll wait here.  You and Sarah go see David.”  

 

She’s clearly upset, and it has little to do with Nurse Ratched.  Today David is having the bone marrow transplant.  It’s risky, experimental.  But it’s still his best shot and they all know it.  Peggy finally sighs and nods.  Steve kisses her on the forehead.  He watches her and Sarah walk down the hall and when they turn the corner, he sinks into one of the uncomfortable waiting room chairs.

 

* * *

 

It’s hours later when Peggy and Sarah finally walk into the waiting room.  The procedure itself wasn’t supposed to have taken very long, but with the recovery from the anesthesia, Steve knows it takes a while.  

 

“How’d it go?” Steve asks, rising to stand.

 

Peggy nods, her lips pressed in a thin line.

 

“Charles,” Sarah says, referring to Laurie’s father, the head of the hospital’s oncology department, “said that it went as well as they could have hoped.  But Dave’s stuck here for at least three weeks.”

 

Steve nods.  As far as he knows, that was the original plan, so at least nothing has urged them to be more cautious.  

 

“I’m going to go find a payphone,” Sarah says.  “I told Olivia I’d check in.”

 

As soon as Sarah is gone, Steve grasps Peggy’s hand lightly, tugging at her.  With a sigh, she leans into him.  He wraps an arm around her, holding her tight and presses a kiss against the top of her head.  “How’d it really go?” he asks.

 

“Well,” she says quietly.  “I think he responded a little better than they hoped, but - “  She falls silent, takes a deep breath and blows it out harshly.  “But he looks so small,” she says.  

 

Steve hugs her tighter.  For a long time, she rests there against him.  Then she pushes herself away, dabbing lightly at her eyes.  She looks up at him, expression firm.  “I called Mark,” she says briskly.  “We’re stopping by his office on the way home.”

 

Mark, Steve assumes, is Mark Wesson, a friend of Peggy’s.  Steve doesn’t particularly like the guy, mostly because he obviously carries a torch for Peggy.  Also, he speaks to Steve as if Steve is about fifteen years old.  Mark, however, is also a judge.

 

“Are you having legal issues?” Steve asks.

 

“Of a sort,” Peggy says.  She looks up at him, eyes narrowed.  “We’re getting married.”

 

He blinks at her.  “Today?”

 

“Yes,” she says, and turns on her heel, heading out of the room.

 

Steve stands there for a moment and then follows.  He’s not opposed to getting married.  Though he hadn’t planned on doing it _today_.  And he isn’t really dressed for the occasion, in tan trousers and a white t-shirt.  They’ve had their marriage license for weeks.  They both had to take blood tests and then it took a week for the application to be processed.  They’d talked about having a small get together at the house, after David was out of the hospital.  Apparently Peggy has accelerated the timeline.

 

In the lobby, Steve sees Sarah on the phone.  Peggy is outside, on the sidewalk, waiting and he joins her there.  “I didn’t bring the ring,” he says.  “Or the paperwork.”

 

“I have both in my handbag,” she replies without looking at him.

 

“Peggy?”

 

She turns toward him.  He reaches up and gently removes her sunglasses.  She blinks up at him, a small frown on her lips.  Slowly, he leans in and kisses her lightly.

 

She sighs, kissing him back, cupping his face in her hands.  She pulls back.  “If you don’t want to -”

 

“I want,” he says firmly.  “I definitely want.  Today’s as good a day as any.”  Straightening up, he glances back toward the hospital doors.  “I take it Sarah’s going to be a witness.”

 

Peggy nods.  Steve assumes Sarah has no idea.  He feels rather grateful that Peggy informed him of the plan.

* * *

 

It’s clear that Peggy didn’t give Judge Wesson a heads up on what she needed from him.  He seems put out to be performing the ceremony.  But he does it, of course.  No one is going to turn down being owed a personal favor by the director of SHIELD, even if they were hoping things between her and her ‘young friend’ would fall apart.  

 

Sarah’s eyes are huge, but she doesn’t say anything when it becomes clear why they’re there.  So Steve’s in his t-shirt and trousers and Peggy’s in a navy blue summer dress as they say their vows in Judge Wesson’s chambers.  

 

And in ten minutes, that’s it.  They’re married.

 

Steve kisses Peggy with considerably more enthusiasm than she would typically allow in public.  But she meets him eagerly and they’re both slightly breathless when they break away.  Judge Wesson, his clerk, and Sarah are all pretending to be distracted.

 

* * *

 

The ardor with which their marriage started quickly cools as Steve, Peggy and Sarah drive to Arlington to pick Heather up from Laurie’s mother.  It’s evening by the time they get to David and Laurie’s house.  Sarah is staying there, with Heather, so Heather can maintain somewhat of her normal routine while both her parents are at the hospital.  There are kisses and well wishes all around and Steve and Peggy head home.

 

There’s a meal in the oven, courtesy of Alice, the housekeeper, and they eat.  Later, Steve and Peggy are standing in the kitchen and Peggy laughs.  “Not exactly the honeymoon I envisioned,” she says wryly.

 

Steve reaches out for her and pulls her close, kissing her.  “I’m actually pretty fond of this location,” he says.  “Home.  With my wife.”

 

She smiles and hugs him tighter.  She lets him pull her toward the stairs.  Decades ago, in her weaker moments, Peggy had daydreamed about what a honeymoon with Steve might be like.  Generally, there was sun and sand.  The joy of discovery also featured heavily, since they rarely had a moment alone together during the war.  

 

As it turns out, their actual wedding night is vastly different.  And, yet, Peggy can’t help but think that it’s better.  She wouldn’t turn down the opportunity for some sun and sand.  But there is so much certainty between them, about what they mean to one another.  They’ve faced a lot together, and come out stronger for it.  So a night together, in their own bed, seems pretty perfect.

 

Peggy doesn’t know that she ever imagined feeling this comfortable with Steve.  Certainly not after they found him in the ice.  The chasm of time between them seemed so insurmountable.  And yet, they found a way to come together.  Mostly because of his sheer stubbornness.  She loves him so much for that.  She hates to think she could have missed out on a life with him solely because she was afraid.

 

As they’re drifting off to sleep, him curled around her, she twines her fingers through his.  He sighs, burrowing his face deeper into the pillow as she squeezes her hand.  

 

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

 

“Fer what?” he grunts.

 

“For being the right partner.”

 

He shifts, pushing himself up on one elbow and leans over her, kissing her.  “I love you, Peggy.”

 

“I love you too, Mr. Carter.”

 

He grunts, but chuckles, burrowing back under the covers and pulling her close.

  


* * *

 

 

**February 1978**

 

There was a scare, in David’s second week post procedure.  He got an infection and it was touch and go for several days.  But he recovered and was eventually released to go home.  There were lots of doctor’s visits and he spent three months pretty much sequestered in his house.  

 

But overall, the results are better than the doctors dared to hope.  Peggy is eager to get home and see David, but her schedule has been absolutely manic.  She’s been traveling for a solid month.  She thought perhaps she could arrange several days at home, but instead she’s here, in Geneva.  There’s a secret U.N. Security Council meeting.  And while SHIELD isn’t under the purview of the U.N., they requested her presence very graciously.  And there’s no need to sour the relationship.

 

“Name?” the clerk asks.

 

“Rogers,” Peggy says.  Professionally, she’s kept Carter.  But privately, she changed it to Rogers, much to David’s dismay.  The clerk hands her the keys along with an envelope.  

 

Peggy nods, stepping away from the desk to open the envelope.  It’s a message, from one of the newer U.N. consultants, requesting a preliminary meeting in the hotel bar.  They need SHIELD’s help and they’re trying to butter her up.  She knows this.  It’s been a source of moderate amusement for at least the last year and a half.  The consultant will undoubtedly be young and male.  At least this one is a senior consultant.  The last three, she’s pretty sure, were interns with far more ambition than sense.  

 

“Please have my bags delivered to my room,” Peggy informs the clerk.

 

It’s early evening and the hotel bar is far from empty.  But it’s a discrete establishment accustomed to parties needing a reasonable amount of privacy.  It isn’t terribly well lit and there are plenty of secluded tables.

 

She sees the senior consultant, standing alone at the bar.  When he sees her, he crosses the room toward her.  Young, male and sinfully handsome.  She holds out her hand, but he wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her close and kisses her full on the lips.  She wants to pull away, but she can’t quite manage to make herself.  Finally, she pulls back, stepping away from him regretfully.  “You should know I’m married.”

 

“Good,” he says, sounding slightly breathless, “so am I.  How about I give you a tour of my room?”  

 

He leans in to kiss her again and she pinches him on the side, biting back a smile.  “Stop it, Steve.  People are watching.”

 

He makes a face and refuses to remove his hand from her waist.  “I tried the husband card and it wasn’t getting me anywhere, Director, so I thought I’d give the diplomatic card a try.”

 

She leans into him, sighing.  “I missed you.”

 

He leans down and kisses her temple.  “I missed you too,” he says quietly.  “Now, about that tour - “

 

* * *

 

Wrapped in a thick, white hotel robe, Steve sets the room service tray in the hall and hurries back to bed.  Peggy pulls him close, making a contented sound as he starts kissing down her neck.

 

“You should know, this is the first time this has ever worked,” she says.

 

Steve stops kissing her and looks up.  “The first time what has worked?” he says dubiously.  “I hate to break it to you, but you haven’t really tried to play hard to get since you broke your ankle.”  He goes back to kissing her neck, reaching inside her robe.

 

She smacks him lightly on the shoulder.  “I mean organizations plying me with handsome young companions when they need information.”

 

He stops again and looks up at her.  “ _What?”_

 

She looks at him blandly.  “I just told you this is the first time it’s ever worked.”

 

He frowns.  “Men have tried to pick you up to get information?”

 

“Scores of them,” she says dryly.  “After the rumors started circulating about you and me.”  She narrows her gaze at him.  “Lucky for you I like you so much.”

 

He’s still frowning, his lower lip sticking out in a slight pout.  She leans forward, biting down on it gently.  She pulls back slowly.  “They’re typically considerably below your pay grade too.  And not nearly as persuasive.”

 

He snorts, clearly irritated.  “For the record, no one sent me to talk to you.”

 

“That’s probably for the best,” she says, “since you haven’t done much talking.”

 

He growls, moving over her, pinning her to the bed.

 

“Case in point,” she says, arching a brow as she looks up at him.

 

* * *

 

Hours later, they’re spooned together in the dark.  “I saw Laurie the day before yesterday,” Steve says, “before I flew out.”

 

Peggy shifts, getting more comfortable.  “What did she say?”

 

“David’s cancer free,” he says quietly.  “They can’t use the term remission yet, but it’s really promising.”

 

“Thank God,” Peggy says quietly.

 

His arm tightens around her waist.  “Tell me you’re going home after the session tomorrow.”

 

“I’m going home after the session tomorrow,” she says.  “I’m sorry I’ve been away so much recently.”

 

He doesn’t say anything and she knows it’s because he doesn’t really have room to complain.  He took the job with the U.N. as a consultant two months ago and his schedule has been almost as bad as hers.  She’s not sure if he’s happy or not, it’s probably too early to tell.  It’s definitely a change of pace for him.  He’s so accustomed to being able to take immediate and direct action.  Diplomacy is a different beast.  But Steve is smart and ambitious and this experience should broaden his horizons even if it doesn’t turn into a career.

 

“Oh, and Sarah and Olivia broke up.  Sarah’s thinking of transferring back to Georgetown.”

 

Peggy groans.  “Is there anything else you’d like to tell me about my children that I don’t already know?”

 

“Sarah needs money.”

 

“I already knew that,” Peggy says dryly.  “She always needs money.  You didn’t give her any, did you?”

 

“Are you kidding?” Steve asks incredulously.  

 

That is the one thing she can count on.  Steve humors the kids a lot.  And he’ll occasionally try and keep confidences for them, when there’s something they really don’t want her to know.  But he draws the line at money.  She’s never met anybody tighter with money than Steve.

 

“I suppose I can get the basement room set up again,” Steve says.  “In case Sarah does move home.”

 

“Home?” Peggy says.  “Why would we want her at home?”

 

“You’d rather pay for an apartment in Georgetown?”

 

Peggy goans again.   “You know for a seduction, this is some very unsexy talk.”

 

“You want sexy, Director,” he says, pressing his hips against hers.  “We could discuss how you need to be better about oil changes for your car.  Or that the refrigerator is on its last legs.”

 

“You’re terrible,” Peggy says.

 

“You like it,” he counters, nipping at her shoulder.

 

She smiles in the dark.  “I do like it,” she admits.

 

END of Objects In Mirror


End file.
